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THE 


POETICAL    WORKS 


OLIVER    GOLDSMITH. 

WITH    A     LIFE, 

BY 

THOMAS   BABINGTON   MACAULAY. 


BOSTON: 
LITTLE,   BROWN  AND    COMPANY. 

MDCCCLXHI. 


ADVERTISEMENT. 


THE  Memoir  of  Goldsmith  which  accompanies 
this  edition  is  taken  from  the  tenth  volume  of 
the  new  edition  of  the  Encyclopaedia  Brittanica. 

The  Anecdotes  of  Goldsmith  which  follow  the 
Memoir,  were  collected  by  the  Rev.  John  Mitford, 
and  appended  to  his  Life  of  Goldsmith.  He  says : 
"  I  should  with  reluctance  have  deprived  my  read- 
ers of  what  information  might  be  collected  from 
them ;  but  I  am  not  sufficiently  satisfied  of  the 
veracity  of  all  to  authorize  their  reception  in  the 
narrative  of  the  Poet's  Life.  I  have,  therefore, 
collected  them  into  an  Appendix,  where  they  ap- 
pear under  the  sanction  of  the  narrators'  names, 
who  are  alone  responsible  for  their  truth." 


CONTENTS. 


Page 

MEMOIR  OF  GOLDSMITH.    By  T.  B.  Macaulay ix 

Anecdotes  of  Goldsmith xxxv 

POEMS. 

The  Traveller;  or,  A  Prospect  of  Society 1 

The  Deserted  Village 27 

Edwin  and  Angelina 53 

The  Haunch  of  Venison 67 

Retaliation 75 

Postscript 86 

The  Captivity 89 

Threnodia  Augustalis 107 

MISCELLANIES. 

The  Double  Transformation 123 

A  New  Simile 128 

The  Logicians  refuted ,  131 

An  Elegy  on  the  Death  of  a  Mad  Dog 134 

An  Elegy  on  the  Glory  of  her  Sex,  Mrs.  Mary  Blaize 136 

The  Clown's  Reply 138 

On  a  Beautiful  Youth  struck  Blind  by  Lightning 139 

Stanzas  on  the  Taking  of  Quebec 139 

The  Gift 140 

A  Description  of  an  Author's  Bedchamber 142 

Epitaph  on  Dr.  Parnell 144 

Epitaph  on  Edward  Purdon 144 

Stanzas  on  Woman 145 

Song 146 

A  Sonnet 147 


Yl  CONTENTS. 

Page 

Song 147 

Song 148 

Song 149 

Verses 151 

Le  Wbr 154 

A  Prologue  written  and  spoken  by  the  Poet  Laberius. . .  160 

Prologue  to  Zobeide 162 

Epilogue  spoken  by  Mr.  Lee  Lewes 164 

Epilogue  to  the  Comedy  of  the  Sister 166 

Epilogue  to  the  Good-Natured  Man 168 

Epilogue  to  the  Comedy  of  "  She  Stoops  to  Conquer  "...  170 

Intended  Epilogue  to  "  She  Stoops  to  Conquer  " 172 

Another  intended  Epilogue  to  "  She  Stoops  to  Conquer  "  177 

On  seeing  Mrs. perform  in  the  Character  of 179 

On  the  Death  of  the  Eight  Hon. 180 

An  Epigram 182 

To  G.  C.  and  R.  L 183 

"  In  all  my  Enna's  beauties  blest," 104 

"  The  window,  patch'd  with  paper,  lent  a  ray," 185 

"  Chaste  are  their  instincts,  faithful  is  their  fire," 186 

Lines  attributed  to  Dr.  Goldsmith 187 

Vida's  Game  of  Chess. . .  .189 


MEMOIR  OF  GOLDSMITH, 


MEMOIR  OF  GOLDSMITH. 


BY   THOMAS    BABINGTON    MACAULAY. 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH  was  one  of  the  most 
pleasing  English  writers  of  the  eighteenth  century. 
He  was  of  a  Protestant  and  Saxon  family  which 
had  been  long  settled  in  Ireland,  and  which  had, 
like  most  other  Protestant  and  Saxon  families, 
been,  in  troubled  times,  harassed  and  put  in  fear 
by  the  native  population.  His  father,  Charles 
Goldsmith,  studied  in  the  reign  of  Queen  Anne, 
at  the  diocesan  school  of  Elphin,  became  attached 
to  the  daughter  of  the  schoolmaster,  married  her, 
took  orders,  and  settled  at  a  place  called  Pallas, 
in  the  county  of  Longford.  There  he  with  diffi- 
culty supported  his  wife  and  children  on  what  he 
could  earn,  partly  as  a  curate,  and  partly  as  a 
farmer. 

At  Pallas,  Oh' ver  Goldsmith  was  born  in  No- 
vember, 1728.  That  spot  was  then,  for  all  prac- 


X  MEMOIR    OF    GOLDSMITH. 

tical  purposes,  almost  as  remote  from  the  busy 
and  splendid  capital  in  which  his  later  years 
were  passed,  as  any  clearing  in  Upper  Canada,  or 
any  sheep-walk  in  Australasia,  now  is.  Even  at 
this  day,  those  enthusiasts  who  venture  to  make  a 
pilgrimage  to  the  birthplace  of  the  poet,  are  forced 
to  perform  the  latter  part  of  their  journey  on  foot 
The  hamlet  lies  far  from  any  high  road,  on  a 
dreary  plain  which,  in  wet  weather,  is  often  a 
lake.  The  lanes  would  break  any  jaunting  car  to 
pieces ;  and  there  are  ruts  and  sloughs  through 
which  the  most  strongly  built  wheels  cannot  be 
dragged. 

While  Oliver  was  still  a  child,  His  father  was 
presented  to  a  living  worth  about  £200  a  year,  in 
the  county  of  Westmeath.  The  family  accord- 
ingly quitted  their  cottage  in  the  wilderness  for  a 
spacious  house  on  a  frequented  road,  near  the 
village  of  Lissoy.  Here  the  boy  was  taught  his 
letters  by  a  maid-servant,  and  was  sent  in  his 
seventh  year  to  a  village  school  kept  by  an  old 
quartermaster  on  half-pay,  who  professed  to  teach 
nothing  but  reading,  writing,  and  arithmetic,  but 
who  had  an  inexhaustible  fund  of  stories  about 
ghosts,  banshees,  and  fairies,  about  the  great  Rap- 
paree  chiefs,  Baldearg  O'Donnell  and  galloping 
Hogan,  and  about  the  exploits  of  Peterborough 
and  Stanhope,  the  surprise  of  Monjuich,  and  the 
glorious  disaster  of  Brihuega.  This  man  must 
have  been  of  the  Protestant  religion ;  but  he  was 


MEMOIR    OF   GOLDSMITH.  xi 

of  the  aboriginal  race,  and  not  only  spoke  the 
Irish  language,  but  could  pour  forth  unpremedi- 
tated Irish  verses.  Oliver  early  became,  and 
through  life  continued  to  be,  a  passionate  admirer 
of  the  Irish  music,  and  especially  of  the  composi- 
tions of  Carolan,  some  of  the  last  notes  of  whose 
harp  he  heard.  It  ought  to  be  added  that  Oliver, 
though  by  birth  one  of  the  Englishry,  and  though 
connected  by  numerous  ties  with  the  Established 
Church,  never  showed  the  least  sign  of  that  con- 
temptuous antipathy  with  which,  in  his  days,  the 
ruling  minority  in  Ireland  too  generally  regarded 
the  subject  majority.  So  far  indeed  was  he  from 
sharing  in  the  opinions  and  feelings  of  the  caste 
to  which  he  belonged,  that  he  conceived  an  aver- 
sion to  the  Glorious  and  Immortal  Memory,  and, 
even  when  George  the  Third  was  on  the  throne, 
maintained  that  nothing  but  the  restoration  of  the 
banished  dynasty  could  save  the  country. 

From  the  humble  academy  kept  by  the  old 
soldier,  Goldsmith  was  removed  in  his  ninth  year. 
He  went  to  several  grammar-schools,  and  acquired 
some  knowledge  of  the  ancient  languages.  His 
life  at  this  time  seems  to  have  been  far  from 
happy.  He  had,  as  appears  from  the  admirable 
portrait  of  him  at  Knowle,  features  harsh  even  to 
ugliness.  The  smallpox  had  set  its  mark  on  him 
with  more  than  usual  severity.  His  stature  was 
small,  and  his  limbs  ill  put  together.  Among 
boys,  little  tenderness  is  shown  to  personal  de- 


Xll  MEMOIR    OF    GOLDSMITH. 

fects ;  and  the  ridicule  excited  by  poor  Oliver's 
appearance,  was  heightened  by  a  peculiar  sim- 
plicity and  a  disposition  to  blunder  which  he 
retained  to  the  last.  He  became  the  common 
butt  of  boys  and  masters,  was  pointed  at  as  a 
fright  in  the  play-ground,  and  flogged  as  a  dunce 
in  the  school-room.  When  he  had  risen  to  emi- 
nence, those  who  had  once  derided  him,  ransacked 
their  memory  for  the  events  of  his  early  years, 
and  recited  repartees  and  couplets  which  had 
dropped  from  him,  and  which,  though  little  noticed 
at  the  time,  were  supposed,  a  quarter  of  a  century 
later,  to  indicate  the  powers  which  produced  the 
Vicar  of  Wakefield  and  the  Deserted  Village. 

In  his  seventeenth  ye&r,  Oliver  went  up  to 
Trinity  College,  Dublin,  as  a  sizar.  The  sizars 
paid  nothing  for  food  and  tuition,  and  very  little 
for  lodging ;  but  they  had  to  perform  some  menial 
services,  from  which  they  have  long  been  relieved. 
They  swept  the  court ;  they  carried  up  the  dinner 
to  the  fellows'  table,  and  changed  the  plates  and 
poured  out  the  ale  of  the  rulers  of  the  society 
Goldsmith  was  quartered,  not  alone,  in  a  garret, 
on  the  window  of  which  his  name,  scrawled  by 
himself,  is  still  read  with  interest.  From  such 
garrets,  many  men  of  less  parts  than  his  have 
made  their  way  to  the  woolsack  or  to  the  episco- 
pal bench.  But  Goldsmith,  while  he  suffered  all 
the  humiliations,  threw  away  all  the  advantages 
of  his  situation.  He  neglected  the  studies  of  the 


MEMOIR    OF    GOLDSMITH.  Xlll 

place,  stood  low  at  the  examinations,  was  turned 
down  to  the  bottom  of  his  class  for  playing  the 
buffoon  in  the  lecture-room,  was  severely  repri- 
manded for  pumping  on  a  constable,  and  was 
caned  by  a  brutal  tutor  for  giving  a  ball  in  the 
attic  story  of  the  college  to  some  gay  youths  and 
damsels  from  the  city. 

While  Oliver  was  leading  at  Dublin  a  life  di- 
vided between  squalid  distress  and  squalid  dissi- 
pation, his  father  died,  leaving  a  mere  pittance. 
The  youth  obtained  his  bachelor's  degree,  and  left 
the  university.  During  some  time,  the  humble 
dwelling  to  which  his  widowed  mother  had  retired, 
was  his  home.  He  was  now  in  his  twenty-first 
year;  it  was  necessary  that  he  should  do  some- 
thing ;  and  his  education  seemed  to  have  fitted 
him  to  do  nothing  but  to  dress  himself  in  gaudy 
colours,  of  which  he  was  as  fond  as  a  magpie,  to 
take  a  hand  at  cards,  to  sing  Irish  airs,  to  play 
the  flute,  to  angle  in  summer,  and  to  tell  ghost 
stories  by  the  fire  in  winter.  He  tried  five  or  six 
professions  in  turn  without  success.  He  applied 
for  ordination ;  but,  as  he  applied  in  scarlet 
clothes,  he  was  speedily  turned  out  of  the  epis- 
copal palace.  He  then  became  tutor  in  an  opu- 
lent family,  but  soon  quitted  his  situation  in  conse- 
quence of  a  dispute  about  play.  Then  he  deter- 
mined to  emigrate  to  America.  His  relations, 
with  much  satisfaction,  saw  him  set  out  for  Cork 
on  a  good  horse,  with  thirty  pounds  in  his  pocket. 


XIV  MEMOIR   OP   GOLDSMITH. 

But  in  six  weeks  he  came  back  on  a  miserable 
hack,  without  a  penny,  and  informed  his  mother 
that  the  ship  in  which  he  had  taken  his  passage, 
having  got  a  fair  wind  while  he  was  at  a  party  of 
pleasure,  had  sailed  without  him.  Then  he  re- 
solved to  study  the  law.  A  generous  kinsman 
advanced  fifty  pounds.  With  this  sum,  Goldsmith 
went  to  Dublin,  was  enticed  into  a  gaming  house, 
and  lost  every  shilling.  He  then  thought  of  medi- 
cine. A  small  purse  was  made  up ;  and  in  his 
twenty-fourth  year,  he  was  sent  to  Edinburgh. 
At  Edinburgh,  he  passed  eighteen  months  in 
nominal  attendance  on  lectures,  and  picked  up 
some  superficial  information  about  chemistry  and 
natural  history.  Thence  he  went  to  Leyden,  still 
pretending  to  study  physic.  He  left  that  cele- 
brated university,  the  third  university  at  which  he 
had  resided,  in  his  twenty-seventh  year,  without  a 
degree,  with  the  merest  smattering  of  medical 
knowledge,  and  with  no  property  but  his  clothes 
and  his  flute.  His  flute,  however,  proved  a  use- 
ful friend.  He  rambled  on  foot  through  Flanders, 
France,  and  Switzerland,  playing  tunes  which 
everywhere  set  the  peasantry  dancing,  and  which 
often  procured  for  him  a  supper  and  a  bed.  He 
wandered  as  far  as  Italy.  His  musical  perform- 
ances, indeed,  were  not  to  the  taste  of  the  Italians ; 
but  he  contrived  to  live  on  the  alms  which  he  ob- 
tained at  the  gates  of  convents.  It  should,  how- 
ever, be  observed,  that  the  stories  which  he  told 


MEMOIR    OF    GOLDSMITH.  XV 

• 

about  this  part  of  his  life,  ought  to  be  received 
with  great  caution  ;  for  strict  veracity  was  never 
one  of  his  virtues ;  and  a  man  who  is  ordinarily 
inaccurate  in  narration,  is  likely  to  be  more  than 
ordinarily  inaccurate  when  he  talks  about  his  own 
travels.  Goldsmith,  indeed,  was  so  regardless  of 
truth  as  to  assert  in  print  that  he  was  present  at 
a  most  interesting  conversation  between  Voltaire 
and  Fontenelle,  and  that  this  conversation  took 
place  at  Paris.  Now,  it  is  certain  that  Voltaire 
never  was  within  a  hundred  leagues  of  Paris 
during  the  whole  time  which  Goldsmith  passed 
on  the  continent. 

In  1756,  the  wanderer  landed  at  Dover,  with- 
out a  shilling,  without  a  friend,  and  without  a 
calling.  He  had,  indeed,  if  his  own  unsupported 
evidence  may  be  trusted,  obtained  from  the  Uni- 
versity of  Padua  a  doctor's  degree;  but  this 
dignity  proved  utterly  useless  to  him.  In  Eng- 
land, his  flute  was  not  in  request :  there  were  no 
convents  ;  and  he  was  forced  to  have  recourse  to 
a  series  of  desperate  expedients.  He  turned 
strolling  player ;  but  his  face  and  figure  were  ill 
suited  to  the  boards  even  of  the  humblest  theatre. 
He  pounded  drugs,  and  ran  about  London  with 
phials  for  charitable  chemists.  He  joined  a  swarm 
of  beggars,  which  made  its  nest  in  Axe  Yard. 
He  was  for  a  time  usher  of  a  school,  and  felt  the 
miseries  and  humiliations  of  this  situation  so 
keenly,  that  he  thought  it  a  promotion  to  be  per- 


XVI  MEMOIR    OF    GOLDSMITH. 

| 

mitted  to  earn  his  bread  as  a  bookseller's  hack ; 
but  he  soon  found  the  new  yoke  more  galling  than 
the  old  one,  and  was  glad  to  become  an  usher 
again.  He  obtained  a  medical  appointment  in  the 
service  of  the  East  India  Company ;  but  the  ap- 
pointment was  speedily  revoked.  Why  it  was 
revoked,  we  are  not  told.  The  subject  was  one 
on  which  he  never  liked  to  talk.  It  is  probable 
that  he  was  incompetent  to  perform  the  duties  of 
the  place.  Then  he  presented  himself  at  Sur- 
geon's Hall  for  examination,  as  mate  to  a  naval 
hospital.  Even  to  so  humble  a  post  he  was  found 
unequal.  By  this  time  the  schoolmaster,-  whom 
he  had  served  for  a  morsel  of  food  and  the  third 
part  of  a  bed,  was  no  more.  Nothing  remained 
but  to  return  to  the  lowest  drudgery  of  literature. 
Goldsmith  took  a  garret  in  a  miserable  court,  to 
which  he  had  to  climb  from  the  brink  of  Fleet 
Ditch  by  a  dizzy  ladder  of  flagstones  called 
Breakneck  Steps.  The  court  and  the  ascent  have 
long  disappeared ;  but  old  Londoners  well  re- 
member both.  Here,  at  thirty,  the  unlucky  ad- 
venturer sat  down  to  toil  like  a  galley  slave. 

In  the  succeeding  six  years,  he  sent  to  the  press 
some  things  which  have  survived,  and  many  which 
have  perished.  He  produced  articles  for  reviews, 
magazines,  and  newspapers ;  children's  books, 
which,  bound  in  gilt  paper  and  adorned  with 
hideous  woodcuts,  appeared  in  the  window  of  the 
once  far-famed  shop  at  the  corner  of  Saint  Paul's 


MEMOIR    OF    GOLDSMITH.  XV11 

Churchyard ;  An  Inquiry  into  the  State  of  Polite 
Learning  in  Europe,  which,  though  of  little  or  no 
value,  is  still  reprinted  among  his  works ;  a  Life 
of  Beau  Nash,  which  is  not  reprinted,1  though  it 
well  deserves  to  be  so ;  a  superficial  and  incorrect, 
but  very  readable,  History  of  England,  in  a  series 
of  letters  purporting  to  be  addressed  by  a  noble- 
man to  his  son ;  and  some  very  lively  and  amus- 
ing Sketches  of  London  Society,  in  a  series  of 
letters  purporting  to  be  addressed  by  a  Chinese 
traveller  to  his  friends.  All  these  works  were 
anonymous ;  but  some  of  them  were  well  known 
to  be  Goldsmith's ;  and  he  gradually  rose  in  the 
estimation  of  the  booksellers  for  whom  he  drudged. 
He  was,  indeed,  emphatically  a  popular  writer. 
For  accurate  research  or  grave  disquisition,  he 
was  not  well  qualified  by  nature  or  by  education. 
He  knew  nothing  accurately;  his  reading  had 
been  desultory ;  nor  had  he  meditated  deeply  on 
what  he  had  read.  He  had  seen  much  of  the 
world;  but  he  had  noticed  and  retained  little 
more  of  what  he  had  seen  than  some  grotesque 
incidents  and  characters  which  had  happened  to 
strike  his  fancy.  But,  though  his  mind  was  very 
scantily  stored  with  materials,  he  used  what 
materials  he  had  in  such  a  way  as  to  produce  a 
wonderful  effect.  There  have  been  many  greater 
writers ;  but  perhaps  no  writer  was  ever  more 

1  [See  Cunningham's  edition  of  the  Works  of  Goldsmith, 
vol.  iv.] 


XV111  MEMOIR    OF    GOLDSMITH. 

uniformly  agreeable.  His  style  was  always  pure 
and  easy,  and,  on  proper  occasions,  pointed  and 
energetic.  His  narratives  were  always  amusing, 
his  descriptions  always  picturesque,  his  humour 
rich  and  joyous,  yet  not  without  an  occasional 
tinge  of  amiable  sadness.  About  every  thing  that 
he  wrote,  serious  or  sportive,  there  was  a  certain 
natural  grace  and  decorum,  hardly  to  be  expected 
from  a  man  a  great  part  of  whose  life  had  been 
passed  among  thieves  and  beggars,  street-walkers 
and  merry-andrews,  in  those  squalid  dens  which 
are  the  reproach  of  great  capitals. 

As  his  name  gradually  became  known,  the 
circle  of  his  acquaintance  widened.  He  was 
introduced  to  Johnson,  who  was  then  considered 
as  the  first  of  living  English  writers  ;  to  Rey- 
nolds, the  first  of  English  painters ;  and  to  Burke, 
who  had  not  yet  entered  parliament,  but  had  dis- 
tinguished himself  greatly  by  his  writings  and  by 
the  eloquence  of  his  conversation.  "With  these 
eminent  men,  Goldsmith  became  intimate.  In 
1J  63,  he  was  one  of  the  nine  original  members  of 
that  celebrated  fraternity  which  has  sometimes 
been  called  the  Literary  Club,  but  which  has 
always  disclaimed  that  epithet,  and  still  glories  in 
the  simple  name  of  The  Club. 

By  this  time,  Goldsmith  had  quitted  his  mis- 
erable dwelling  at  the  top  of  Breakneck  Steps, 
and  had  taken  chambers  in  the  more  civilized 
region  of  the  Inns  of  Court.  But  he  was  still 


MEMOIR    OF   GOLDSMITH.  XIX 

often  reduced  to  pitiable  shifts.  Towards  the 
close  of  1764,  his  rent  was  so  long  in  arrear  that 
his  landlady  one  morning  called  in  the  help  of  a 
sheriff's  officer.  The  debtor,  in  great  perplexity, 
despatched  a  messenger  to  Johnson  ;  and  Johnson, 
always  friendly,  though  often  surly,  sent  back  the 
messenger  with  a  guinea,  and  promised  to  follow 
speedily.  He  came,  and  found  that  Goldsmith 
had  changed  the  guinea,  and  was  railing  at  the 
landlady  over  a  bottle  of  Madeira.  Johnson  put 
the  cork  into  the  bottle,  and  entreated  his  friend 
to  consider  calmly  how  money  was  to  be  procured. 
Goldsmith  said  that  he  had  a  novel  ready  for  the 
press.  Johnson  glanced  at  the  manuscript,  saw 
that  there  were  good  things  in  it,  took  it  to  a 
bookseller,  sold  it  for  £60,  and  soon  returned  with 
the  money.  The  rent  was  paid ;  and  the  sheriff's 
officer  withdrew.  According  to  one  story,  Gold- 
smith gave  his  landlady  a  sharp  reprimand  for 
her  treatment  of  him ;  according  to  another,  he 
insisted  on  her  joining  him  in  a  bowl  of  punch. 
Both  stories  are  probably  true.  The  novel  which 
was  thus  ushered  into  the  world,  was  the  Vicar 
of  Wakefield. 

But  before  the  Vicar  of  Wakefield  appeared  in 
print,  came  the  great  crisis  of  Goldsmith's  literary 
life.  In  Christmas  week,  1764,  he  published  a 
poem,  entitled  the  Traveller.  It  was  the  first 
work  to  which  he  had  put  his  name ;  and  it  at 
once  raised  him  to  the  rank  of  a  legitimate  Eng- 


XX  MEMOIR   OF   GOLDSMITH. 

lish  classic.  The  opinion  of  the  most  skilful 
critics  was,  that  nothing  finer  had  appeared  in 
verse  since  the  fourth  book  of  the  Dunciad.  In 
one  respect,  the  Traveller  differs  from  all  Gold- 
smith's other  writings.  In  general,  his  designs 
were  bad,  and  his  execution  good. '  In  the  Trav- 
eller, the  execution,  though  deserving  of  much 
praise,  is  far  inferior  to  the  design.  No  philo- 
sophical poem,  ancient  or  modern,  has  a  plan  so 
noble,  and  at  the  same  time  so  simple.  An  Eng- 
lish wanderer,  seated  on  a  crag  among  the  Alps, 
near  the  point  where  three  great  countries  meet, 
looks  down  on  the  boundless  prospect,  reviews  his 
long  pilgrimage,  recalls  the  varieties  of  scenery, 
of  climate,  of  government,  of  religion,  of  national 
character,  which  he  has  observed,  and  comes  to 
the  conclusion,  just  or  unjust,  that  our  happiness 
depends  little  on  political  institutions,  and  much 
on  the  temper  and  regulation  of  our  own  minds. 

While  the  fourth  edition  of  the  Traveller  was 
on  the  counters  of  the  booksellers,  the  Vicar  of 
Wakefield  appeared,  and  rapidly  obtained  a  popu- 
larity which  has  lasted  down  to  our  own  time, 
and  which  is  likely  to  last  as  long  as  our  language. 
The  fable  is  indeed  one  of  the  worst  that  ever  was 
constructed.  It  wants  not  merely  that  probability 
which  ought  to  be  found  in  a  tale  of  common 
English  life,  but  that  consistency  which  ought  to 
be  found  even  in  the  wildest  fiction  about  witches, 
giants,  and  fairies.  But  the  earlier  chapters  have 


MEMOIR    OP    GOLDSMITH.  XXI 

all  the  sweetness  of  pastoral  poetry,  together  with 
all  the  vivacity  of  comedy.  Moses  and  his  spec- 
tacles, the  vicar  and  his  monogamy,  the  sharper 
and  his  cosmogony,  the  squire  proving  from  Aris- 
totle that  relatives  are  related,  Olivia  preparing 
herself  for  the  arduous  task  of  converting  a  rakish 
lover  by  studying  the  controversy  between  Robin- 
son Crusoe  and  Friday,  the  great  ladies  with  their 
scandal  about  Sir  Tomkyn's  amours  and  Dr.  Bur- 
dock's verses,  and  Mr.  Burchell  with  his  "  Fudge," 
have  caused  as  much  harmless  mirth  as  has  ever 
been  caused  by  matter  packed  into  so  small  a 
number  of  pages.  The  latter  part  of  the  tale  is 
unworthy  of  the  beginning.  As  we  approach  the 
catastrophe,  the  absurdities  lie  thicker  and  thicker ; 
and  the  gleams  of  pleasantry  become  rarer  and 
rarer. 

The  success  which  had  attended  Goldsmith  as 
a  novelist,  emboldened  him  to  try  his  fortune  as  a 
dramatist.  He  wrote  the  Good-natured  Man,  a 
piece  which  had  a  worse  fate  than  it  deserved. 
Garrick  refused  to  produce  it  at  Drury  Lane.  It 
was  acted  at  Covent  Garden  in  1768,  but  was 
coldly  received.  The  author,  however,  cleared 
by  his  benefit  nights,  and  by  the  sale  of  the  copy- 
right, no  less  than  £500,  five  times  as  much  as  he 
had  made  by  the  Traveller  and  the  Vicar  of 
Wakefield  together.  The  plot  of  the  Good- 
natured  Man  is,  like  almost  all  Goldsmith's  plots, 
very  ill  constructed.  But  some  passages  are  ex- 


Xxii  MEMOIR    OF    GOLDSMITH. 

quisitely  ludicrous  ;  much  more  ludicrous,  indeed, 
than  suited  the  taste  of  the  town  at  that  time.  A 
canting,  mawkish  play,  entitled  False  Delicacy, 
had  just  had  an  immense  run.  Sentimentality 
was  all  the  mode.  During  some  years,  more  tears 
were  shed  at  comedies  than  at  tragedies ;  and  a 
pleasantry  which  moved  the  audience  to  any  thing 
more  than  a  grave  smile,  was  reprobated  as  low. 
It  is  not  strange,  therefore,  that  the  very  best 
scene  in  the  Good-natured  Man,  that  in  which 
Miss  Richland  finds  her  lover  attended  by  the 
bailiff  and  the  bailiff's  follower  in  full  court 
dresses,  should  have  been  mercilessly  hissed,  and 
should  have  been  omitted  after  the  first  night. 

In  1770  appeared  the  Deserted  Village.  In 
mere  diction  and  versification,  this  celebrated 
poem  is  fully  equal,  perhaps  superior  to  the  Trav- 
eller ;  and  it  is  generally  preferred  to  the  Trav- 
eller by  that  large  class  of  readers  who  think, 
with  Bayes  in  the  Rehearsal,  that  the  only  use  of 
a  plan  is  to  bring  in  fine  things.  More  discerning 
judges,  however,  while  they  admire  the  beauty  of 
the  details,  are  shocked  by  one  unpardonable  fault 
which  pervades  the  whole.  The  fault  which  we 
mean,  is  not  that  theory  about  wealth  and  luxury 
which  has  so  often  been  censured  by  political 
economists.  The  theory  is  indeed  false ;  but  the 
poem,  considered  merely  as  a  poem,  is  not  neces- 
sarily the  worse  on  that  account.  The  finest 
poem  in  the  Latin  language,  indeed  the  finest 


MEMOIR    OP    GOLDSMITH.  XX111 

didactic  poem  in  any  language,  was  written  in 
defence  of  the  silliest  and  meanest  of  all  systems 
of  natural  and  moral  philosophy.  A  poet  may 
easily  be  pardoned  for  reasoning  ill ;  but  he  can- 
not be  pardoned  for  describing  ill,  for  observing 
the  world  in  which  he  lives  so  carelessly,  that  his 
portraits  bear  no  resemblance  to  the  originals,  for 
exhibiting  as  copies  from  real  life  monstrous  com- 
binations of  things  which  never  were  and  never 
could  be  found  together.  What  would  be  thought 
of  a  painter  who  should  mix  August  and  January 
in  one  landscape,  who  should  introduce  a  frozen 
river  into  a  harvest  scene  ?  Would  it  be  a  suffi- 
cient defence  of  such  a  picture  to  say  that  every 
part  was  exquisitely  coloured,  that  the  green 
hedges,  the  apple-trees  loaded  with  fruit,  the 
wagons  reeling  under  the  yellow  sheaves,  and  the 
sun-burned  reapers  wiping  their  foreheads,  were 
very  fine,  and  that  the  ice  and  the  boys  sliding 
were  also  very  fine  ?  To  such  a  picture  the  De- 
serted Village  bears  a  great  resemblance.  It  is 
made  up  of  incongruous  parts.  The  village  in  its 
happy  days,  is  a  true  English  village.  The  vil- 
lage in  its  decay,  is  an  Irish  village.  The  felicity 
and  the  misery  which  Goldsmith  has  brought 
close  together,  belong  to  two  different  countries, 
and  to  two  different  stages  in  the  progress  of 
society.  He  had  assuredly  never  seen  in  his 
native  island  such  a  rural  paradise,  such  a' seat  of 
plenty,  content,  and  tranquillity,  as  his  Auburn. 


XXIV  MEMOIR   OP   GOLDSMITH. 

He  had  assuredly  never  seen  in  England  all  the 
inhabitants  of  such  a  paradise  turned  out  of  their 
homes  in  one  day,  and  forced  to  emigrate  in  a 
body  to  America.  The  hamlet  he  had  probably 
seen  in  Kent ;  the  ejectment  he  had  probably  seen 
in  Munster ;  but  by  joining  the  two,  he  has  pro- 
duced something  which  never  was  and  never  will 
be  seen  in  any  part  of  the  world. 

In  1773,  Goldsmith  tried  his  chance  at  Covent 
Garden  with  a  second  play,  She  Stoops  to  Con- 
quer. The  manager  was  not  without  great  diffi- 
culty induced  to  bring  this  piece  out.  The  senti- 
mental comedy  still  reigned,  and  Goldsmith's 
comedies  were  not  sentimental.  The  Good- 
natured  Man  had  been  too  funny  to  succeed  ;  yet 
the  mirth  of  the  Good-natured  Man  was  sober 
when  compared  with  the  rich  drollery  of  She 
Stoops  to  Conquer,  which  is,  in  truth,  an  incom- 
parable farce  in  five  acts.  On  this  occasion,  how- 
ever, genius  triumphed.  Pit,  boxes,  and  galleries 
were  in  a  constant  roar  of  laughter.  If  any 
bigoted  admirer  of  Kelly  and  Cumberland  ven- 
tured to  hiss  or  groan,  he  was  speedily  silenced 
by  a  general  cry  of  "  turn  him  out,"  or  "  throw 
him  over."  Two  generations  have  since  confirmed 
the  verdict  which  was  pronounced  on  that  night. 

While  Goldsmith  was  writing  the  Deserted 
Village  and  She  Stoops  to  Conquer,  he  was  em- 
ployed on  works  of  a  very  different  kind,  works 
from  which  he  derived  little  reputation,  but  much 


MEMOIR   OF    GOLDSMITH.  XXV 

profit.  He  compiled  for  the  use  of  schools  a 
History  of  Rome,  by  which  he  made  £300,  a 
History  of  England,  by  which  he  made  £600, 
a  History  of  Greece,  for  which  he  received  £250, 
a  Natural  History,  for  which  the  booksellers  cove- 
nanted to  pay  him  800  guineas.  These  works  he 
produced  without  any  elaborate  research,  by 
merely  selecting,  abridging,  and  translating  into 
his  own  clear,  pure,  and  flowing  language,  what 
he  found  in  books  well  known  to  the  world,  but 
too  bulky  or  too  dry  for  boys  and  girls.  He  com- 
mitted some  strange  blunders ;  for  he  knew  nothing 
with  accuracy.  Thus,  in  his  History  of  England, 
he  tells  us  that  Naseby  is  in  Yorkshire ;  nor  did 
he  correct  this  mistake  when  the  book  was  re- 
printed. He  was  very  nearly  hoaxed  into  putting 
into  the  History  of  Greece  an  account  of  a  battle 
between  Alexander  the  Great  and  Montezuma. 
In  his  Animated  Nature,  he  relates,  with  faith 
and  with  perfect  gravity,  all  the  most  absurd  lies 
which  he  could  find  in  books  of  travels  about 
gigantic  Patagonians,  monkeys  that  preach  ser- 
mons, nightingales  that  repeat  long  conversations. 
"  If  he  can  tell  a  horse  from  a  cow,"  said  Johnson, 
that  is  the  extent  of  his  knowledge  of  zoology." 
How  little  Goldsmith  was  qualified  to  write  about 
the  physical  sciences,  is  sufficiently  proved  by  two 
anecdotes.  He  on  one  occasion  denied  that  the 
sun  is  longer  in  the  northern  than  in  the  southern 
signs.  It  was  vain  to  cite  the  authority  of  Mau- 


XXVI  MEMOIR    OP   GOLDSMITH. 

pertuis.  "  Maupertuis ! "  he  cried,  "  I  understand 
those  matters  better  than  Maupertuis."  On  an- 
other occasion,  he,  in  defiance  of  the  evidence  of 
his  own  senses,  maintained  obstinately,  and  even 
angrily,  that  he  chewed  his  dinner  by  moving  his 
upper  jaw. 

Yet,  ignorant  as  Goldsmith  was,  few  writers 
have  done  more  to  make  the  first  steps  in  the 
laborious  road  to  knowledge  easy  and  pleasant. 
His  compilations  are  widely  distinguished  from 
the  compilations  of  ordinary  bookmakers.  He 
was  a  great,  perhaps  an  unequalled,  master  of  the 
arts  of  selection  and  condensation.  In  these 
respects,  his  histories  of  Rome  and  of  England, 
and  still  more  his  own  abridgments  of  these  his- 
tories, well  deserved  to  be  studied.  In  general, 
nothing  is  less  attractive  than  an  epitome  ;  but 
the  epitomes  of  Goldsmith,  even  when  most  con- 
cise, are  always  amusing ;  and  to  read  them  is 
considered  by  intelligent  children,  not  as  a  task, 
but  as  a  pleasure. 

Goldsmith  might  now  be  considered  as  a  pros- 
perous man.  He  had  the  means  of  living  in  com- 
fort, and  even  in  what  to  one  who  had  so  often 
slept  in  barns  and  on  bulks,  must  have  been 
luxury.  His  fame  was  great,  and  was  constantly 
rising.  He  lived  in  what  was  intellectually  far 
the  best  society  of  the  kingdom,  in  a  society  in 
which  no  talent  or  accomplishment  was  wanting, 
and  in  which  the  art  of  conversation  was  culti- 


MEMOIR    OF    GOLDSMITH.  XXVU 

vated  with  splendid  success.  There  probably 
were  never  four  talkers  more  admirable  in  four 
different  ways  than  Johnson,  Burke,  Beauclerk, 
and  Garrick ;  and  Goldsmith  was  on  terms  of  in- 
timacy with  all  the  four.  He  aspired  to  share  in 
their  colloquial  renown  ;  but  never  was  ambition 
more  unfortunate.  It  may  seem  strange  that  a 
man  who  wrote  with  so  much  perspicuity,  vivacity, 
and  grace,  should  have  been,  whenever  he  took  a 
part  in  conversation,  an  empty,  noisy,  blundering 
rattler.  But  on  this  point  the  evidence  is  over- 
whelming. So  extraordinary  was  the  contrast 
between  Goldsmith's  published  works  and  the 
silly  things  which  he  said,  that  Horace  Walpole 
described  him  as  an  inspired  idiot.  "  Noll,"  said 
Garrick,  "  wrote  like  an  angel,  and  talked  like 
poor  Pol."  Chamier  declared  that  it  was  a  hard 
exercise  of  faith  to  believe  that  so  foolish  a  chat- 
terer could  have  really  written  the  Traveller. 
Even  Boswell  could  say,  with  contemptuous  com- 
passion, that  he  liked  very  well  to  hear  honest 
Goldsmith  run  on.  "Yes,  sir,"  said  Johnson, 
"  but  he  should  not  like  to  hear  himself."  Minds 
differ  as  rivers  differ.  There  are  transparent  and 
sparkling  rivers  from  which  it  is  delightful  to 
drink  as  they  flow ;  to  such  rivers,  the  minds  of 
such  men  as  Burke  and  Johnson  may  be  com- 
pared. But  there  are  rivers  of  which  the  water, 
when  first  drawn,  is  turbid  and  noisome,  but  be- 
comes pellucid  as  crystal  and  delicious  to  the 


XXV111  MEMOIR    OP    GOLDSMITH. 

taste  if  it  be  suffered  to  stand  till  it  has  deposited 
a  sediment ;  and  such  a  river  is  a  type  of  the 
mind  of  Goldsmith.  His  first  thoughts  on  every 
subject  were  confused  even  to  absurdity,  but  they 
required  only  a  little  time  to  work  themselves 
clear.  When  he  wrote,  they  had  that  time  ;  and 
therefore  his  readers  pronounced  him  a  man  of 
genius ;  but  when  he  Jalked,  he  talked  nonsense, 
and  made  himself  the  laughing-stock  of  his  hearers. 
He  was  painfully  sensible  of  his  inferiority  in 
conversation ;  he  felt  every  failure  keenly ;  yet 
he  had  not  sufficient  judgment  and  self-command 
to  hold  his  tongue.  His  animal  spirits  and  vanity 
were  always  impelling  him  to  try  to  do  the  one 
thing  which  he  could  not  do.  After  every  attempt 
he  felt  that  he  had  exposed  himself,  and  writhed 
with  shame  and  vexation ;  yet  the  next  moment 
he  began  again. 

His  associates  seem  to  have  regarded  him  with 
kindness,  which,  in  spite  of  their  admiration  of  his 
writings,  was  not  unmixed  with  contempt.  In 
truth,  there  was  in  his  character  much  to  love, 
but  very  little  to  respect  His  heart  was  soft 
even  to  weakness ;  he  was  so  generous  that  he 
quite  forgot  to  be  just;  he  forgave  injuries  so 
readily,  that  he  might  be  said  to  invite  them,  and 
was  so  liberal  to  beggars,  that  he  had  nothing  left 
for  his  tailor  and  his  butcher.  He  was  vain, 
sensual,  frivolous,  profuse,  improvident.  One  vice 
of  a  darker  shade  was  imputed  to  him,  envy.  But 


MEMOIR    OP   GOLDSMITH.  XXIX 

there  is  not  the  least  reason  to  believe  that  this 
bad  passion,  though  it  sometimes  made  him  wince 
and  utter  fretful  exclamations,  ever  impelled  him 
to  injure  by  wicked  arts  the  reputation  of  any  of 
his  rivals.  The  truth  probably  is,  that  he  was  not 
more  envious,  but  merely  less  prudent  than  his 
neighbours.  His  heart  was  on  his  lips.  All  those 
small  jealousies,  which  are  but  too  common  among 
men  of  letters,  but  which  a  man  of  letters,  who  is 
also  a  man  of  the  world,  does  his  best  to  conceal, 
Goldsmith  avowed  with  the  simplicity  of  a  child. 
When  he  was  envious,  instead  of  affecting  indif- 
ference, instead  of  damning  with  faint  praise,  in- 
stead of  doing  injuries  slyly  and  in  the  dark,  he 
told  everybody  that  he  was  envious.  "  Do  not, 
pray,  do  not  talk  of  Johnson  in  such  terms,"  he 
said  to  Boswell,  "  you  harrow  up  my  very  soul." 
George  Steevens  and  Cumberl&id  were  men  far 
too  cunning  to  say  such  a  thing.  They  would 
have  echoed  the  praises  of  the  man  whom  they 
envied,  and  then  have  sent  to  the  newspapers 
anonymous  libels  upon  him.  Both  what  was  good 
and  what  was  bad  in  Goldsmith's  character,  was 
to  his  associates  a  perfect  security  that  he  would 
never  commit  such  villany.  He  was  neither  ill- 
natured  enough,  nor  long-headed  enough,  to  be 
guilty  of  any  malicious  act  which  required  con- 
trivance and  disguise. 

Goldsmith  has  sometimes  been  represented  as 
a  man  of  genius,  cruelly  treated  by  the  world,  and 


XXX  MEMOIE    OF  GOLDSMITH. 

doomed  to  struggle  with  difficulties,  which  at  last 
broke  his  heart.  But  no  representation  can  be 
more  remote  from  the  truth.  He  did,  indeed,  go 
through  much  sharp  misery  before  he  had  done 
any  thing  considerable  in  literature.  But  after  his 
name  had  appeared  on  the  title-page  of  the  Trav- 
eller, he  had  none  but  himself  to  blame  for  his 
distresses.  His  average  income,  during  the  last 
seven  years  of  his  life,  certainly  exceeded  £400  a 
year,  and  £400  a  year  ranked,  among  the  incomes 
of  that  day,  at  least  as  high  as  £800  a  year  would 
rank  at  present.  A  single  man  living  in  the 
Temple,  with  £400  a  year,  might  then  be  called 
opulent.  Not  one  in  ten  of  the  young  gentlemen 
of  good  families,  who  were  studying  the  law  there, 
had  so  much.  But  all  the  wealth  which  Lord 
Clive  had  brought  from  Bengal,  and  Sir  Lawrence 
Dundas  from  Gewnany,  joined  together,  would  not 
have  sufficed  for  Goldsmith.  He  spent  twice  as 
much  as  he  had.  He  wore  fine  clothes,  gave  dinners 
of  several  courses,  paid  court  to  venal  beauties. 
He  had  also,  it  should  be  remembered,  to  the 
honour  of  his  heart,  though  not  of  his  head,  a  guinea, 
or  five,  or  ten,  according  to  the  state  of  his  purse, 
ready  for  any  tale  of  distress,  true  or  false.  But 
it  was  not  in  dress  or  feasting,  in  promiscuous 
amours  or  promiscuous  charities,  that  his  chief 
expense  lay.  He  had  been  from  boyhood  a  gam- 
bler, and  at  once  the  most  sanguine  and  the  most 
unskilful  of  gamblers.  For  a  time  he  put  off  the 


MEMOIR    OP   GOLDSMITH.  XXXJ 

day  of  inevitable  ruin  by  temporaiy  expedients. 
He  obtained  advances  from  booksellers,  by  prom- 
ising to  execute  works  which  he  never  began. 
But  at  length  this  source  of  supply  failed.  He 
owed  more  than  £2000 ;  and  he  saw  no  hope  of 
extrication  from  his  embarrassments.  His  spirits 
and  health  gave  way.  He  was  attacked  by  a 
nervous  fever,  which  he  thought  himself  compe- 
tent to  treat.  It  would  have  been  happy  for  him 
if  his  medical  skill  had  been  appreciated  as  justly 
by  himself  as  by  others.  Notwithstanding  the 
degree  which  he  pretended  to  have  received  at 
Padua,  he  could  procure  no  patients.  "  I  do  not 
practise,"  he  once  said ;  "  I  make  it  a  rule  to  pre- 
scribe only  for  my  friends."  "  Pray,  dear  Doctor," 
said  Beauclerk,  "  alter  your  rule  ;  and  prescribe 
only  for  your  enemies."  Goldsmith  now,  in  spite 
of  this  excellent  advice,  prescribed  for  himself. 
The  remedy  aggravated  the  malady.  The  sick 
man  was  induced  to  call  in  real  physicians ;  and 
they  at  one  time  imagined  that  they  had  cured 
the  disease.  Still,  his  weakness  and  restlessness 
continued.  He  could  get  no  sleep.  He  could 
take  no  food.  "You  are  worse,"  said  one  of  his 
medical  attendants,  "than  you  should  be  from  the 
degree  of  "fever  which  you  have.  Is  your  mind 
at  ease  ?  "  "  No,  it  is  not,"  were  the  last  recorded 
words  of  Oliver  Goldsmith.  He  died  on  the  3d 
of  April,  1774,  in  his  forty-sixth  year.  He  was 
laid  in  the  churchyard  of  the  Temple ;  but  the 


XXXU  MEMOIR    OF  GOLDSMITH. 

spot  was  not  marked  by  any  inscription,  and  is 
now  forgotten.  The  coffin  was  followed  by  Burke 
and  Reynolds.  Both  these  great  men  were  sin- 
cere mourners.  Burke,  when  he  heard  of  Gold- 
smith's death,  had  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears. 
Reynolds  had  been  so  much  moved  by  the  news, 
that  he  had  flung  aside  his  brush  and  palette  for 
the  day. 

A  short  time  after  Goldsmith's  death,  a  little 
poem  appeared,  which  will,  as  long  as  our  lan- 
guage lasts,  associate  the  names  of  his  two  illus- 
trious friends  with  his  own.  It  has  already  been 
mentioned  that  he  sometimes  felt  keenly  the  sar- 
casm which  his  wild  blundering  talk  brought  upon 
him.  He  was,  not  long  before  his  last  illness, 
provoked  into  retaliating.  He  wisely  betook  him- 
self to  his  pen ;  and  at  that  weapon  he  proved 
himself  a  match  for  all  his  assailants  together. 
Within  a  small  compass  he  drew  with  a  singularly 
easy  and  vigorous  pencil  the  characters  of  nine  or 
ten  of  his  intimate  associates.  Though  this  little 
work  did  not  receive  his  last  touches,  it  must 
always  be  regarded  as  a  masterpiece.  It  is  im- 
possible, however,  not  to  wish  that  four  or  five 
likenesses  which  have  no  interest  for  posterity, 
were  wanting  to  that  noble  gallery,  and  that  their 
places  were  supplied  by  sketches  of  Johnson  and 
Gibbon,  as  happy  and  vivid  as  the  sketches  of 
Burke  and  Garrick. 

Some  of  Goldsmith's  friends  and  admirers  hon- 


MEMOIR    OF   GOLDSMITH.  XXX1U 

oured  him  with  a  cenotaph  in  Westminster  Abbey. 
Nollekens  was  the  sculptor ;  and  Johnson  wrote 
the  inscription.  It  is  much  to  be  lamented  that 
Johnson  did  not  leave  to  posterity  a  more  durable 
and  a  more  valuable  memorial  of  his  friend.  A 
life  of  Goldsmith  would  have  been  an  inestimable 
addition  to  the  Lives  of  the  Poets.  No  man  ap- 
preciated Goldsmith's  writings  more  justly  than 
Johnson;  no  man  was  better  acquainted  with 
Goldsmith's  character  and  habits ;  and'  no  man 
was  more  competent  to  delineate  with  truth  and 
spirit  the  peculiarities  of  a  mind  in  which  great 
powers  were  found  in  company  with  great  weak- 
nesses. But  the  list  of  poets  to  whose  works 
Johnson  was  requested  by  the  booksellers  to  fur- 
nish prefaces,  ended  with  Lyttelton,  who  died  in 
1773.  The  line  seems  to  have  been  drawn  ex- 
pressly for  the  purpose  of  excluding  the  person 
whose  portrait  would  have  most  fitly  closed  the 
series.  Goldsmith,  however,  has  been  fortunate 
in  his  biographers.  "Within  a  few  years,  his  life 
has  been  written  by  Mr.  Prior,  by  Mr.  Washing- 
ton Irving,  and  by  Mr.  Forster.  The  diligence 
of  Mr.  Prior  deserves  great  praise ;  the  style  of 
Mr.  Washington  Irving  is  always  pleasing ;  but 
the  highest  place  must,  in  justice,  be  assigned  to 
the  eminently  interesting  work  of  Mr.  Forster. 


ANECDOTES   OF   GOLDSMITH, 


I.  NORTHCOTE'S  LIFE  OF  REYNOLDS. 

H.  CRADOCK'S  MEMOIRS. 

HI.  DATIES'S  LIFE  OF  GARRICK. 

IV.  BOSWELL'S  LIFE  OF  JOHNSON. 

V.  MISS  HAWKINS'S  ANECDOTES. 

VI.  COLMAN'S  RANDOM  RECORDS. 

VH.  C0MBERLAND'S  MEMOIRS. 

Vm.  NORTHCOTE'S  CONVERSATIONS. 

IX.  HAWKINS'S  LIFE  OF  JOHNSON. 


ANECDOTES   OF  GOLDSMITH. 


NORTHCOTE'S  LIFE  OF  REYNOLDS. 

IN  the  course  of  this  year,  Sir  Joshua  took  another  trip  to 
Paris,  from  which  he  had  scarcely  returned  when  Mr.  Bennet 
Langton  renewed,  in  a  very  pressing  manner,  an  invitation 
which  he  had  given  to  him  and  Goldsmith  to  spend  some  part 
of  the  autumn  with  him  and  his  lady,  the  Countess  of  Rothes, 
at  their  seat  in  Lincolnshire.  With  this  obliging  request,  how- 
ever, he  was  unable  to  comply ;  and  Goldsmith,  in  a  letter  to 
Mr.  Langton,  declining  the  invitation  on  the  part  of  both,  says, 
'  Reynolds  is  just  returned  from  Paris,  and  finds  himself  now 
in  the  case  of  a  truant,  that  must  make  up  for  his  idle  time  by 
diligence :  we  have  therefore  agreed  to  postpone  our  journey 
till  next  summer.' 

In  fact,  at  this  period  Sir  Joshua  may  be  said  to  have  been 
at  the  zenith  of  his  eminence,  as  we  see  him  now  employed  hi 
portraying  the  most  illustrious  personages  in  every  different 
department,  whilst  hia  intimacy  was  sedulously  sought 'after 
by  all  degrees  of  persons. 

Much  of  the  attention  which  even  Goldsmith  personally  met 
with  was  undoubtedly  owing  to  the  patronage  of  his  admired 
friend ;  yet  Sir  Joshua  used  to  say  that  Goldsmith  looked  at 
or  considered  public  notoriety  or  fame  as  one  great  parcel,  to 
the  whole  of  which  he  laid  claim,  and  whoever  partook  of  any 
part  of  it,  whether  dancer,  singer,  sleight-of-hand  man,  or  tum- 
bler, deprived  him  of  his  right,  and  drew  off  the  attention  of 
the  world  from  himself,  and  which  he  was  striving  to  gain. 

Notwithstanding  this,  he  lamented  that  whenever  he  entered 
into  a  mixed  company,  he  struck  a  kind  of  awe  on  them,  which 


XXXviii       ANECDOTES    OF    GOLDSMITH. 

deprived  him  of  the  enjoyment  and  freedom  of  society,  and 
which  he  then  made  it  his  endeavour  to  dispel  by  playing 
•wanton  and  childish  pranks  in  order  to  bring  himself  to  the 
wished-for  level. 

It  was  very  soon  after  my  first  arrival  in  London,  where 
every  thing  appeared  new  and  wonderful  to  me,  that  I  ex- 
pressed to  Sir  Joshua  my  impatient  curiosity  to  see  Dr.  Gold- 
gTDith,  and  he  promised  I  should  do  so  on  the  first  opportunity. 
Soon  afterwards  Goldsmith  came  to  dine  with  him,  and  imme- 
diately on  my  entering  the  room,  Sir  Joshua,  with  a  designed 
abruptness,  said  to  me, «  This  is  Dr.  Goldsmith :  pray,  why  did 
you  wish  to  see  himl '  I  was  much  confused  by  the  sudden- 
ness of  the  question,  and  answered,  in  my  hurry,  '  Because  he 
is  a  notable  man.'  This,  in  one  sense  of  the  word,  was  so  very 
contrary  to  the  character  and  conduct  of  Goldsmith,  that  Sir, 
Joshua  burst  into  a  hearty  laugh,  and  said  that  Goldsmith 
should  in  future  always  be  called  the  notable  man. 

What  I  meant,  however,  to  say  was,  that  he  was  a  man  of 
note  or  eminence. 

He  appeared  to  me  to  be  very  unaffected  and  good-natured ; 
but  he  was  totally  ignorant  of  the  art  of  painting,  and  this  he 
often  confessed  with  much  gaiety. 

It  has  been  often  said  of  Goldsmith,  that  he  was  ever  desi- 
rous of  being  the  object  of  attention  in  all  companies  where 
he  was  present,  which  the  following  anecdote  may  serve  to 
prove : — 

On  a  summer's  excursion  to  the  continent,  he  accompanied  a 
lady  and  her  two  beautiful  daughters  into  France  and  Flanders, 
and  often  expressed  a  little  displeasure  at  perceiving  that  more 
attention  was  paid  to  them  than  to  himself.  On  their  entering 
a  town,  I  think  Antwerp,  the  populace  surrounded  the  door 
of  the  hotel  at  which  they  alighted,  and  testified  a  desire  to 
see  those  beautiful  young  women ;  and  the  ladies,  willing  to 
gratify  them,  came  into  a  balcony  at  the  front  of  the  house, 
and  Goldsmith  with  them ;  but  perceiving  that  it  was  not  him- 
self who  was  the  object  of  admiration,  he  presently  withdrew, 
with  evident  signs  of  mortification,  saying,  as  he  went  out, 
« There  are  places  where  I  am  the  object  of  admiration  also.' 


ANECDOTES  OF  GOLDSMITH.    XXXIX 

One  day  when  Drs.  Goldsmith  and  Johnson  were  at  dinner 
with  Sir  Joshua,  a  poem,  by  a  poet  already  alluded  to,  was 
presented  to  Sir  Joshua,  by  his  servant,  from  the  author. 
Goldsmith  immediately  laid  hold  of  it  and  began  to  read  it,  and 
at  every  line  cut  almost  through  the  paper  with  his  finger-nail, 
crying  out,  « What  d — d  nonsense  is  this!'  when  Sir  Joshua 
caught  it  out  of  his  hands,  saying,  '  No,  no,  don't  do  so;  you 
shall  not  spoil  my  book,  neither;  '  for  the  Doctor  could  not 
bear  to  hear  of  another's  fame. 

Sir  Joshua  was  always  cautious  to  preserve  an  unblemished 
character,  and  careful  not  to  make  any  man  his  enemy.  I  re- 
member, when  he  was  told  of  some  very  indiscreet  speech  or 
action  of  Goldsmith,  he  quickly  said,  '  What  a  fool  he  is  thus 
to  commit  himself,  when  he  has  so  much  more  cause  to  be  care- 
ful of  his  reputation  than  I  have  of  mine! '  well  recollecting 
that  even  the  most  trivial  circumstance  which  tells  against  an 
eminent  person  will  be  remembered  as  well  as  those  in  his 
favour,  and  that  the  world  watches  those  who  are  distinguished 
for  their  abilities  with  a  jealous  eye. 

To  Goldsmith,  in  particular,  he  was  always  attentive  ;  a 
man  of  whom  it  has  been  not  unaptly  said,  that  his  carelessness 
of  conduct  and  frivolity  of  manners  obscured  the  goodness  of  his 
heart.  Mr.  Cumberland,  in  his  own  Memoirs,  has  a  passage 
peculiarly  illustrative  of  this,  where  he  says  that '  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds  was  very  good  to  him,  and  would  have  drilled  him 
into  better  trim  and  order  for  society,  if  he  would  have  been 
amenable;  for  Reynolds  was  a  perfect  gentleman,  had  good 
sense,  great  propriety,  with  all  the  social  attributes,  and  all 
the  graces  of  hospitality,  equal  to  any  man.  He  well  knew 
how  to  appreciate  men  of  talents,  and  how  near  akin  the  Muse 
of  Poetry  was  to  that  art  of  which  he  was  so  eminent  a  master. 
From  Goldsmith  he  caught  the  subject  of  his  famous  Ugolino: 
what  aids  he  got  from  others,  if  he  got  any,  were  worthily 
bestowed  and  happily  applied.' 

Mr.  Cumberland,  however,  is  perhaps  rather  inaccurate  in 
his  assertion  respecting  the  painting  of '  Ugolino,'  which  waa 
finished  in  this  year  (1773),  and  begun,  not  long  before,  as  an 
historical  subject. 


Xl  ANECDOTES    OF    GOLDSMITH. 

The  fact  is,  that  this  painting  may  be  said  to  have  been  pro- 
duced as  an  historical  picture  by  an  accident;  for  the  head  of 
the  Count  had  been  painted  previous  to  the  year  1771,  and  fin- 
ished on  what  we  painters  call  «a  half-length  canvas,'  and  was, 
in  point  of  expression,  exactly  as  it  now  stands,  but  without 
any  intention,  on  the  part  of  Sir  Joshua,  of  making  it  the  sub- 
ject of  an  historical  composition,  or  having  the  story  of  Count 
Ugolino  in  his  thoughts.  Being  exposed  in  the  picture-gallery, 
along  with  his  other  works,  it  was  seen  either  by  Mr.  Edmund 
Burke  or  Dr.  Goldsmith,  I  am  not  certain  which,  who  imme- 
diately exclaimed,  that  it  struck  him  as  being  the  precise  per- 
son, countenance,  and  expression  of  the  Count  Ugolino,  as 
described  by  Dante  in  his  '  Inferno.' 

When  Goldsmith's  comedy  of  « She  Stoops  to  Conquer '  was 
to  be  brought  out  on  the  stage,  on  the  15th  of  March,  in  this 
year,  he  was  at  a  loss  what  name  to  give  it,  till  the  very  last 
moment,  and  then,  in  great  haste,  called  it, '  She  Stoops  to  Con- 
quer, or  the  Mistakes  of  a  Night.'  Sir  Joshua,  who  disliked 
this  name  for  a  play,  offered  a  much  better  to  him,  saying, 
'  You  ought  to  call  it  the  Belle's  Stratagem ;  and  if  you  do  not, 
I  will  damn  it.'  However,  Goldsmith  chose  to  name  it  himself, 
as  above;  and  Mrs.  Cowley  has  since  given  that  name  to  one 
of  her  comedies. 

Goldsmith  was  in  great  anxiety  about  its  success ;  he  was 
much  distressed  in  his  finances  at  the  time,  and  all  his  hopes 
hung  on  the  event;  and  at  the  dinner  preceding  the  representa- 
tion of  his  play,  his  month  became  so  parched  and  dry,  from 
the  agitation  of  his  mind,  that  he  was  unable  to  swallow  a 
single  mouthful.  The  actors  themselves  had  great  doubts  of 
its  success ;  but,  contrary  to  their  expectations,  the  play  was 
received  with  great  applause;  Sir  Joshua  and  a  largo  party  of 
friends  going  for  the  purpose  of  supporting  it  if  necessary.  The 
dinner-party,  which  took  place  at  the  Shakespeare,  is  humo- 
rously described  by  Cumberland.  Dr.  Johnson  took  the  head 
of  the  table,  and  there  were  present  the  Burkes,  Caleb  White- 
foord,  Major  Mills,  Ac.  <tc. 

I  remember  Dr.  Goldsmith  gave  me  an  order  soon  after  this, 


ANECDOTES  OF  GOLDSMITH.       xh 

with  which  I  went  to  see  this  comedy;  and  the  next  time  I 
saw  him,  he  inquired  of  me  what  my  opinion  was  of  it.  I  told 
him  that  I  would  not  presume  to  be  a  judge  of  its  merits ;  he 
then  said,  'Did  it  make  you  laugh1?'  I  answered,  'Exceed- 
ingly.' '  Then,'  said  the  Doctor, '  that  is  all  I  require.' 

One  day  Dr.  Johnson  and  Dr.  Goldsmith  meeting  at  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds's  table,  the  conversation  turned  on  the  merits 
of  that  well-known  tragedy,  Otway's  Venice  Preserved,  which 
Goldsmith  highly  extolled,  asserting  that  of  all  tragedies  it 
was  the  one  nearest  in  excellence  to  Shakespeare;  when  John- 
Bon,  in  his  peremptory  manner,  contradicted  him,  and  pro- 
nounced that  there  were  not  forty  good  lines  to  be  found  in  the 
whole  play;  adding, 'Pooh!  what  stuff  are  these  lines:  — 

'  What  feminine  tales  hast  thou  been  listening  to,  of  unaired 
shirts,  catarrhs,  and  toothache,  got  by  thin-soled  shoes  1 ' 

•True,'  replied  Goldsmith,  'to  be  sure  that  is  very  like 
Shakespeare.' 

Of  this  subject,  however,  I  presume  my  readers  will  think  I 
have  given  them  enough:  I  shall,  therefore,  revert  to  another 
friend  of  Sir  Joshua's,  poor  Goldsmith,  who  left  this  world  on 
the  4th  of  April,  1774;  the  first,  too,  of  those  on  whom  the 
epitaphs  had  been  so  playfully  written,  as  I  have  before  alluded 
to  in  another  place. 

Just  before  his  death,  he  had  nearly  completed  a  design  for 
the  execution  of  a  '  Universal  Dictionary  of  the  Arts  and 
Sciences.'  Of  this  he  had  published  the  Prospectus,  or,  at  least, 
had  distributed  copies  of  it  amongst  his  friends  and  acquaint- 
ances. It  did  not  meet  with  any  warm  encouragement,  how- 
ever, from  the  booksellers,  although  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds, 
Johnson,  Garrick,  and  several  others  of  his  literary  connexions, 
had  promised  him  their  assistance  on  various  subjects ;  and  the 
design  was,  I  believe,  entirely  given  up  even  previous  to  his 
demise. 

In  the  Dedication  of  his  « Deserted  Village '  to  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds,  already  noticed,  Goldsmith  alludes  to  the  death  of 
his  eldest  brother,  Henry,  the  clergyman  ;  and  his  various 
biographers  record  another,  Maurice,  who  was  a  younger  bro- 


xlii  ANECDOTES    OF    GOLDSMITH. 

ther,  and  of  whom  it  is  stated  by  Bishop  Percy,  that,  having 
been  bred  to  no  business,  he,  upon  some  occasion,  complained 
to  Oliver  that  he  found  it  difficult  to  live  like  a  gentleman.  To 
this  Oliver  wrote  him  an  answer,  begging  that  he  would,  with- 
out delay,  quit  so  unprofitable  a  trade,  and  betake  himself  to 
some  handicraft  employment.  Maurice  wisely,  as  the  Bishop 
adds,  took  the  hint,  and  bound  himself  apprentice  in  a  cabinet- 
maker,  and  when  out  of  his  indentures  set  up  in  business  for 
himself,  in  which  ho  was  engaged  during  the  viceroyalty  of  the 
late  Duke  of  Rutland;  and  his  shop  being  in  Dublin,  he  was 
noticed  by  Mr.  Orde,  since  Lord  Bolton,  the  Lord  Lieutenant's 
Secretary,  who  recommended  him  to  the  patronage  of  the  duke, 
out  of  regard  to  the  memory  of  his  brother. 

In  consequence  of  this,  he  received  the  appointment  of  in- 
spector of  licences  in  that  metropolis,  and  was  also  employed 
as  macebcarer  by  the  Royal  Irish  Academy,  then  just  estab- 
lished. Both  of  these  places  were  compatible  with  his  business ; 
and  in  the  former  he  gave  proof  of  great  integrity  by  detecting 
a  fraud  committed  on  the  revenue  in  his  department,  and  one 
by  which  he  himself  might  have  profited,  if  he  hod  not  been 
a  man  of  principle.  He  has  now  been  dead  not  more  than 
fifteen  years.  I  enter  more  particularly  into  his  history,  from 
having  seen  the  following  passage  in  one  of  Oliver's  letters  to 
him:  '  You  talked  of  being  my  only  brother,  —  I  don't  under- 
stand you.  Where  is  Charlesl ' 

This,  indeed,  was  a  question  which  Maurice  could  not  an- 
swer then,  nor  for  many  years  afterwards ;  but  as  the  anecdote 
is  curious,  and  I  have  it  from  a  friend  on  whose  authority  I  can 
rely,  I  shall  give  it  a  place  here  nearly  in  his  own  words. 

My  friend  informed  me,  that  whilst  travelling  in  the  stage- 
coach towards  Ireland,  in  the  autumn  of  1791,  he  was  joined 
at  Oswestry  by  a  venerable-looking  gentleman,  who,  in  the 
course  of  the  morning,  mentioned  that  his  name  was  Goldsmith, 
when  one  of  the  party  observed,  that  if  he  was  going  to  Ire- 
land, that  name  would  be  a  passport  for  him.  The  stranger 
smiled,  and  asked  the  reason  why;  to  which  the  other  replied, 
that  the  memory  of  Oliver  was  embalmed  amongst  his  country- 
men. A  tear  glistened  in  the  stranger's  eye,  who  immediately 


ANECDOTES    OF    GOLDSMITH.  xliii 

answered,  'I  am  his  brother.'  The  gentleman  who  had  first 
made  the  observation  on  the  name  looked  dcubtingly,  and  said, 
4  He  has  but  one  brother  living :  I  know  him  well.'  'True,' 
replied  the  stranger,  '  for  it  may  be  said  that  I  am  risen  from 
the  dead,  having  been  for  many  years  supposed  to  be  no  longer 
in  the  land  of  the  living.  I  am  Charles,  the  youngest  of  tho 
family.  Oliver,  I  know,  is  dead;  but  of  Henry  and  Maurice  I 
know  nothing.' 

On  being  informed  of  various  particulars  of  his  family,  the 
stranger  then  told  his  simple  tale  ;  which  was,  that,  having 
heard  of  his  brother  Noll  mixing  in  the  first  society  in  London, 
he  took  it  for  granted  that  his  fortune  was  made,  and  that  he 
could  soon  make  a  brother's  also;  he  therefore  left  home  with- 
out notice,  but  soon  found,  on  his  arrival  in  London,  that  the 
picture  he  had  formed  of  his  brother's  situation  was  too  highly 
coloured  ;  that  Noll  would  not  introduce  him  to  his  great 
friends,  and,  in  fact,  that  although  out  of  a  jail,  he  was  also 
often  out  of  a  lodging. 

Disgusted  with  this  entrance  into  high  life,  and  ashamed  to 
return  home,  the  young  man  left  London  without  acquainting 
his  brother  with  his  intentions,  or  even  writing  to  his  friends  in 
Ireland ;  and  proceeded,  a  poor  adventurer,  to  Jamaica,  where 
he  lived  for  many  years  without  ever  renewing  an  intercourse 
with  his  friends,  and  by  whom  he  was,  of  course,  supposed  to 
be  dead ;  though  Oliver  may  at  first  have  imagined  that  he 
had  returned  to  Ireland.  Years  now  passed  on,  and  young 
Charles,  by  industry  and  perseverance,  began  to  save  some 
property;  soon  after  which,  he  married  a  widow  lady  of  some 
fortune ;  when,  his  young  family  requiring  the  advantages  of 
further  education,  he  determined  to  return  to  England,  to  exa- 
mine into  the  state  of  society,  and  into  the  propriety  of  bringing 
over  his  wife  and  family:  on  this  project  he  was  then  engaged, 
and  was  proceeding  to  Ireland  to  visit  his  native  home,  and  with 
the  intention  of  making  himself  known  to  such  of  his  relatives 
as  might  still  be  living.  His  plan,  however  was  to  conceal  his 
good  fortune  until  he  should  ascertain  their  affection  and 
esteem  for  him. 

On  arriving  at  Dublin,  the  party  separated ;  and  my  friend, 


xllV  ANECDOTES    OF    GOLDSMITH. 

a  few  weeks  afterwards,  returning  from  the  north,  called  at  the 
Hotel  where  he  knew  Mr.  Goldsmith  intended  to  reside.  There 
he  met  him ;  when  the  amiable  old  man,  for  such  he  really  was, 
told  him  that  he  had  put  his  plan  in  execution ;  had  given  him- 
self as  much  of  the  appearance  of  poverty  as  he  could  with 
propriety,  and  thus  proceeded  to  the  shop  of  his  brother  Mau- 
rice, where  he  inquired  for  several  articles,  and  then  noticed 
the  name  over  the  door,  asking  if  it  had  any  connexion  with 
the  famous  Dr.  Goldsmith. 

'  I  am  his  brother,  his  sole  surviving  brother,'  said  Maurice. 

<  What,  then,'  replied  the  stranger,  '  is  become  of  the 
others'! ' 

« Henry  has  long  been  dead;  and  poor  Charles  has  not  been 
heard  of  for  many  years.' 

'But  suppose  Charles  were  alive,'  said  the  stranger, ' would 
his  friends  acknowledge  himl '  'Oh,  yes!'  replied  Maurice, 
'gladly  indeed!'  'He  lives,  then;  but  as  poor  as  when  he 
left  you.' 

Maurice  instantly  leaped  over  his  counter,  hugged  him  in 
his  arms,  and,  weeping  with  pleasure,  cried, '  Welcome,  wel- 
come! here  you  shall  find  a  home  and  a  brother.' 

It  is  needless  to  add,  that  this  denouement  was  perfectly 
agreeable  to  the  stranger,  who  was  then  preparing  to  return  to 
Jamaica  to  make  his  proposed  family  arrangement;  but  my 
friend  having  been  engaged  for  the  next  twenty  years  in  tra- 
versing the  four  quarters  of  the  globe, — being  himself  a  wan- 
derer, —  has  never,  since  that  period,  had  an  opportunity  of 
making  inquiries  into  the  welfare  of  the  stranger,  for  whom  he 
had,  indec'd,  formed  a  great  esteem,  even  on  a  few  days' 
acquaintance. 

Sir  Joshua  was  much  affected  by  the  death  of  Goldsmith,  to 
whom  he  had  been  a  very  sincere  friend.  He  did  not  touch 
the  pencil  for  that  day;  a  circumstance  most  extraordinary  for 
him,  who  passed  no  day  without  a  line.  Ho  acted  as  executor, 
and  managed  in  the  best  manner  the  confused  state  of  the  Doc- 
tor's affairs.  At  first  he  intended,  as  I  have  already  stated,  to 
have  made  a  grand  funeral  for  him,  assisted  by  several  sub- 
scriptions to  that  intent,  and  to  have  buried  him  in  the  Abbey, 


ANECDOTES    OF    GOLDSMITH.  xlv 

his  pallbearers  to  have  been  Lord  Shelburne,  Lord  Lonth,  Sir 
Joshua  himself,  Burke,  Garrick,  &o. ;  but,  on  second  thoughts, 
he  resolved  to  have  him  buried  in  the  plainest  and  most  private 
manner  possible,  observing  that  the  most  pompous  funerals  are 
soon  past  and  forgotten,  and  that  it  would  be  much  more  pru- 
dent to  apply  what  money  could  be  procured  to  the  purpose  of 
a  more  substantial  and  more  lasting  memorial  of  his  departed 
friend,  by  a  monument ;  and  he  was  accordingly  privately 
interred  in  the  Temple  burying-ground. 

Sir  Joshua  went  himself  to  Westminster  Abbey,  and  fixed 
upon  a  place  where  Goldsmith's  monument  now  stands,  over  a 
door  in  the  Poet's  Corner.  He  thought  himself  lucky  in  being 
able  to  find  so  conspicuous  a  situation  for  it,  as  there  scarcely 
remained  another  so  good. 

Nollekens,  the  sculptor,  was  employed  to  make  the  monu- 
ment, and  Dr.  Johnson  composed  the  epitaph. 

There  is  a  very  fine  portrait,  which  is  the  only  original  one 
of  Dr.  Goldsmith,  now  at  Knowle,  the  seat  of  the  Duke  of 
Dorset,  painted  by  Sir  Joshua. 

A  lady,  who  was  a  great  friend  of  Dr.  Goldsmith,  earnestly 
desired  to  have  a  lock  of  his  hair  to  keep  as  a  memorial  of  him; 
and  his  coffin  was  opened  again,  after  it  had  been  closed  up, 
to  procure  this  lock  of  hair  from  his  head.  This  relic  is  still 
in  the  possession  of  the  family,  and  is  the  only  one  of  the  kind 
which  has  been  preserved  of  the  Doctor. 

An  observation  of  Dr.  Beattie,  respecting  the  deceased 
Poet,  in  a  letter  to  Mr.  Montagu,  must  not  be  passed  over:  — 
'  I  am  sorry  for  poor  Goldsmith.  There  were  some  things  in 
his  temper  which  I  did  not  like,  but  I  liked  many  things  in  his 
genius;  and  I  was  sorry  to  find,  last  summer,  that  he  looked 
upon  me  as  a  person  who  seemed  to  stand  between  him  and 
his  interest,  flowever,  when  next  we  meet,  all  this  will  be 
forgotten;  and  the  jealousy  of  authors,  which,  Dr.  Gregory  used 
to  say,  was  next  to  that  of  physicians,  will  be  no  more.' 

Soon  after  Goldsmith's  death,  some  people  dining  with  Sir 
Joshua  were  commenting  rather  freely  on  some  part  of  hia 
works,  which,  in  their  opinion,  neither  discovered  talent  nor  ori- 
ginality. To  this  Dr.  Johnson  listened  in  his  usual  growling 


xlvi  ANECDOTES    OF    GOLDSMITH. 

manner  for  some  time;  when,  at  length,  his  patience  being 
exhausted,  he  rose  with  great  dignity,  looked  them  full  in  the 
face,  and  exclaimed,  '  If  nobody  was  suffered  to  abuse  poor 
Goldy  but  those  who  could  write  as  well,  he  would  have  few 
censors.' 

Yet,  on  another  occasion,  soon  after  the  death  of  Goldsmith, 
a  lady  of  his  acquaintance  was  condoling  with  Dr.  Johnson  on 
their  loss,  saying,  « Poor  Goldsmith!  I  am  exceedingly  sorry 
for  him;  he  was  every  man's  friend! ' 

'  No,  madam,'  answered  Johnson,  «  he  was  no  man's  friend.' 

In  this  seemingly  harsh  sentence,  however,  he  merely  al- 
luded to  the  careless  and  imprudent  conduct  of  Goldsmith,  as 
being  no  friend  even  to  himself;  and,  when  that  is  the  cose,  a 
man  is  rendered  incapable  of  being  of  any  essential  service  to 
any  one  else. 

It  has  been  generally  circulated,  and  believed  by  many,  that 
Goldsmith  was  a  mere  fool  in  conversation ;  but,  in  truth,  this 
has  been  greatly  exaggerated  by  such  as  were  really  fools.  In 
allusion  to  this  notion,  Mr.  Horace  Walpole,  who  admired  his 
writings,  said  he  was  an  'inspired  idiot; '  and  Garrick  de- 
scribed him  as  one, 

'for  shortness  call'd  Noll, 

Who  wrote  like  an  angel,  but  talk'd  like  poor  poll.' 

Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  mentioned  to  Boswell  that  he  frequently 
had  heard  Goldsmith  talk  warmly  of  the  pleasure  of  being  liked, 
and  observe  how  hard  it  would  be  if  literary  excellence  should 
preclude  a  man  from  that  satisfaction,  which  he  perceived  it 
often  did,  from  the  envy  which  attended  it;  and  therefore  Sir 
Joshua  was  convinced  that  he  was  intentionally  more  absurd, 
in  order  to  lessen  himself  in  social  intercourse,  trusting  that 
his  character  would  be  sufficiently  supported  by  his  works.  If 
it  was  his  intention  to  appear  absurd  in  company,  he  was  often 
very  successful.  This,  in  my  own  opinion,  was  really  the  case; 
and  I  also  think  Sir  Joshua  was  so  sensible  of  the  advantage 
of  it,  that  ho,  yet  in  a  much  less  degree,  followed  the  same 
idea,  as  he  never  had  a  wish  to  impress  his  company  with  any 
awe  of  the  great  abilities  with  which  he  was  endowed,  espe- 
cially when  in  the  society  of  those  high  in  rank. 


ANECDOTES    OF    GOLDSMITH.  xlvii 

I  have  heard  Sir  Joshua  say  that  he  has  frequently  seen  the 
whole  company  struck  with  an  awful  silence  at  the  entrance 
of  Goldsmith,  but  that  Goldsmith  has  quickly  dispelled  the 
charm  by  his  boyish  and  social  manners,  and  he  then  has  soon 
become  the  plaything  and  favourite  of  the  company. 

Mr.  Boswell  in  this  year  records  an  opinion  of  Sir  Joshua's 
on  the  subject  of  conversation,  which  may  be  noticed  in  this 
place.  When  it  had  been  proposed  to  add  some  members  to 
the  Literary  Club  (during  Goldsmith's  life),  that  writer  had 
said  in  favour  of  it,  that  it  would  give  the  club  an  agreeable 
variety,  that  there  could  then  be  nothing  new  among  the  mem- 
bers, and  that  they  had  travelled  over  each  other's  minds;  to 
which  Johnson  answered,  '  Sir,  you  have  not  travelled  over 
my  mind,  I  promise  you.'  When  Sir  Joshua  was  afterwards 
told  of  this,  he  agreed  with  Goldsmith,  saying,  that,  '  when 
people  have  lived  a  great  deal  together,  they  know  what  each 
of  them  will  say  on  the  subject.  A  new  understanding,  there- 
fore, is  desirable ;  because,  though  it  may  only  furnish  the  same 
sense  upon  a  question  which  would  have  been  furnished  by  those 
with  whom  we  are  accustomed  to  live,  yet  this  sense  will  have 
a  different  colouring,  and  colouring  is  of  much  effect  in  every 
thing  else  as  well  as  in  painting.' 

The  mention  of  Goldsmith  calls  to  my  recollection  a  circum- 
stance related  to  me  by  Miss  Reynolds. 

About  the  year  1770,  Dr.  Goldsmith  lost  his  mother,  who 
died  in  Ireland.  On  this  occasion  he  immediately  dressed  him- 
self in  a  suit  of  clothes  of  gray  cloth,  trimmed  with  black,  such 
as  commonly  is  worn  for  second  mourning.  When  he  appeared 
the  first  time  after  this  at  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds's  house,  Miss  F. 
Reynolds,  the  sister  of  Sir  Joshua,  asked  him  whom  he  had 
lost,  as  she  saw  he  wore  mourning;  when  he  answered,  a  dis- 
tant relation  only;  being  shy,  as  I  conjecture,  to  own  that  he 
wore  such  slight  mourning  for  so  near  a  relative.  This  appears 
in  him  an  unaccountable  blunder,  in  wearing  such  a  dress;  as 
all  those  who  did  not  know  his  mother,  or  of  her  death,  would 
not  expect  or  require  him  to  wear  mourning  at  all,  and  to  all 


ANECDOTES    OF    GOLDSMITH. 

those  who  knew  of  his  mother's  death,  it  would  appear  to  be 
not  the  proper  dress  of  mourning  for  so  near  a  relative :  so  that 
he  satisfied  nobody,  and  displeased  some;  for  Miss  Reynolds, 
who  afterwards  heard  of  her  death,  thought  it  unfeeling  in  him 
to  call  his  mother  a  distant  relation. 


CRADOCK'S  MISCELLANEOUS  MEMOIRS. 

I  THINK  my  acquaintance  with  Dr.  Goldsmith  must  have  com- 
menced at  Mr.  Yatcs's  house.  My  introduction  to  Mr.  Murphy 
certainly  took  place  there.  The  Doctor  afterwards  favoured 
me  with  a  Prologue  for  my  tragedy  of  Zobeide,  probably  in 
consequence  of  some  application  made  by  the  Yates  family, 
and  he  sent  it  to  me  with  the  following  note:  — 

«  Mr.  Goldsmith  presents  his  best  respects  to  Mr.  Cradock; 
has  sent  him  the  Prologue,  such  as  it  is.  He  cannot  take  time 
to  make  it  better.  He  begs  he  will  give  Mr.  Yates  the  proper 
instructions;  and  so,  even  so,  he  commits  him  to  fortune  and 
the  public.' 

1  For  the  Right  Hon.  Lord  Clare, 
(Mr.  Cradock,)  Gosfleld,  Essex.1 

This  Prologue  was  evidently  intended  to  be  spoken  by  Mr. 
Yates,  but  it  was  forwarded  to  Mr.  Quick;  a  comic  Prologue, 
by  the  husband,  in  the  character  of  a  sailor,  would  have  ill 
suited  with  the  lofty  dignity  of  the  first  tragic  actress;  indeed 
their  names  rarely  appeared  in  the  same  play-bill,  they  were 
not  calculated  for  the  same  meridian. 

The  following  note  seems  to  refer  to  one  of  his  earlier  pro- 
ductions ;  but  I  retain  neither  letter  nor  written  document  of 
any  kind  from  him  with  a  date. 

'Mr.  Goldsmith's  best  respects  to  Mr.  Cradock:  when  he 
asked  him  to-day,  he  quite  forgot  an  engagement  of  above  a 
week's  standing,  which  has  been  made  purposely  for  him;  he 
feels  himself  quite  uneasy  at  not  being  permitted  to  have  his 


ANECDOTES    OF    GOLDSMITH.  xlix 

instructions  upon  those  parts  where  he  must  necessarily  be 
defective.  He  will  have  a  rehearsal  on  Monday;  when,  if 
Mr.  Cradock  would  come,  and  afterwards  take  a  bit  of  mutton 
chop,  it  would  add  to  hia  other  obligations. 

1  Sunday  morning, 
'  To  J.  Cradock,  Esq.,  at  the  Hotel  in  Pall  MalL 

The  first  letter  I  ever  received  from  Dr.  Goldsmith  was  sent 
to  me  in  Leicestershire,  where  I  had  previously  altered  his 
Comedy  of  «  She  Stoops  to  Conquer.' 

'  Mr  DEAR  SIR,  —  The  Play  has  met  with  a  success  much 
beyond  your  expectations  or  mine.  I  thank  you  sincerely  for 
your  Epilogue,  which,  however,  could  not  be  used,  but  with 
your  permission  shall  be  printed.  The  story,  in  short,  is  this : 
Murphy  sent  me  rather  the  outline  of  an  Epilogue  than  an 
Epilogue,  which  was  to  be  sung  by  Mrs.  Catley,  and  which  she 
approved.  Mrs.  Bulkley,  hearing  this,  insisted  on  throwing  up 
her  part,  unless,  according  to  the  custom  of  the  theatre,  she  were 
permitted  to  speak  the  Epilogue.  In  this  embarrassment,  I 
thought  of  making  a  quarrelling  Epilogue  between  Catley  and 
her,  debating  who  should  speak  the  Epilogue;  but  then  Mrs. 
Catley  refused,  after  I  had  taken  the  trouble  of  drawing  it  out. 
I  was  then  at  a  loss  indeed :  an  Epilogue  was  to  be  made,  and 
for  none  but  Mrs.  Bulkley.  I  made  one,  and  Colman  thought 
it  too  bad  to  be  spoken:  I  was  obliged,  therefore,  to  try  a 
fourth  time,  and  I  made  a  very  mawkish  thing,  as  you'll  shortly 
see.  Such  is  the  history  of  my  stage  adventures,  and  which  I 
have  at  last  done  with. 

'  I  cannot  help  saying  that  I  am  very  sick  of  the  stage ;  and 
though  I  believe  I  shall  get  three  tolerable  benefits,  yet  I  shall, 
upon  the  whole,  be  a  loser,  even  in  a  pecuniary  light:  my  ease 
and  comfort  I  certainly  lost  while  it  was  in  agitation. 
'  I  am,  my  dear  Cradock, 

•  Tour  obliged  and  obedient  Servant, 
'  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH.' 

«  P.  S.  Present  my  most  humble  respects  to  Mrs.  Cra- 
dock.' 

d 


ANECDOTES    OF    GOLDSMITH. 


ADDRESS,  IN  THE  CHARACTER  OF  TONY  LUMPKIN 


L,  the  Play  ended,  and  my  comrades  gone, 
Pray  what  becomes  of  mother's  n'only  son? 
A  hopeful  blade  !  in  town  I'll  fix  my  station, 
And  cut  a  dashing  figure  through  the  nation  ; 
Turn  Author,  Actor,  Statesman,  Wit,  or  Beau, 
And  stalk  the  Hero  of  the  '  Puppetshow.' 
Could  I  but  gain  some  present  firm  support, 
"I'd  quickly  barter  Country  Ale  for  Port. 
No  '  Piety  in  Pattens,'  I  renounce  her, 
Off  in  a  crack,  and  carry  big  Bet  Bouncer. 

Bill  Bullet  now  can  drive  a  roaring  trade, 
And  picks  up  Countesses  in  Masquerade  ; 
Walks  round  the  new  Great  room  *  with  Dukes  and  Peers, 
And  swears  he'll  never  balk  his  country  jeers  ; 
Nay,  more,  they  much  admires  his  lounging  gait, 
And  talks  to  him  as  to  the  Lords  of  State. 
And  there's  my  Comrade,  too,  that  lived  o'  th'  hill, 
Odzooks  !  he  quite  forgets  his  father's  mill, 
Says  he  was  born  to  figure  high  in  life, 
And  gets  in  keeping  by  a  Nabob's  wife. 

Why  should  not  I,  then,  in  the  world  appear* 
I  soon  shall  have  a  thousand  pounds  a  year  ; 
What  signifies  below  what  men  inherit? 
In  London,  there  they've  some  regard  for  merit. 

Mother  still  talks  '  of  laming,  modes  refin'd  ;  ' 
They're  all  for  making  mince-meat  of  my  mind. 
I'll  no  such  stuff;  for,  after  all  their  strife, 
'Tis  best,  what  haps  in  lottery  and  in  life. 

I'm  off,  —  the  horses  scamper  through  the  streets, 
And  big  Bet  Bouncer  bobs  to  all  she  meets  ; 
.To  every  Race,  to  Pastimes  every  night, 
Not  to  the  Plays  (they  say),  it  been't  polite; 
To  Sadler's  Wells,  perhaps,  or  Operas  go  ; 
And  once,  perchance,  to  th'  Roratorio. 

Then  Bet  herself  shall  sit  at  top  o'  th'  table; 
She  manages  the  house,  and  I  the  stable  ; 
The  rest  o'  th'  time  we'll  scamper  np  and  down, 
And  set  the  fashions,  too,  to  half  the  town  ; 
Frequent  all  auctions,  money  ne'er  regard  ; 
Buy  pictures,  like  the  great,  ten  pounds  a  yard. 
Odzooks  !  we'll  make  these  London  gentry  say, 
We  know  what's  high  genteel  as  well  as  they. 

*  Pantheon. 


ANECDOTES  OF  GOLDSMITH.         11 

Though  I  was  inattentive  to  my  own  productions  of  every 
sort,  I  hope  I  was  always  careful  as  to  those  of  others.  Dr. 
Goldsmith  presented  to  me  his  Threnodia  Augustalis,  written 
on  the  Princess  Dowager's  death  ;  I  gave  it  up  to  Mr. 
Nichols,  and  have  since  seen  the  following  extract  from  Mr. 
Chalmers's  Life  of  Goldsmith,  in  the  collection  of  English 
Poets,  published  in  1810: — 

'The  present  edition  of  his  poems  is  copied  from  the  octavo 
principally,  with  the  addition  of  the  Threnodia  Augustalis,  a 
piece  which  has  hitherto  escaped  the  researches  of  his  editors. 
It  is  now  printed  from  a  copy  given  by  the  author  to  his  friend 
Joseph  Cradock,  Esq.  of  Grumley,  author  of  Zobeide,  and  obli- 
gingly lent  to  me  by  Mr.  Nichols.  If  it  add  little  to  his  fame, 
it  exhibits  a  curious  instance  of  the  facility  with  which  he  gra- 
tified his  employers  on  a  very  short  notice.' 

Dr.  Percy  very  kindly  introduced  me  to  dine  at  the  Literary 
Club,  at  the  bottom  of  St.  James's-street,  where  we  met  Dr. 
Goldsmith.  The  table  that  day  was  crowded,  and  I  sat  next 
Mr.  Burke;  but  as  Mr.  Richard  Burke  talked  much,  and  the 
great  orator  said  very  little,  I  was  not  aware  at  first  who  was 
my  neighbour.  One  of  the  party  near  us  remarked  that  there 
was  an  offensive  smell  in  the  room,  and  thought  it  must  pro- 
ceed from  some  dog  that  was  under  the  table ;  but  Mr.  Burke, 
with  a  smile,  turned  to  me,  and  said,  '  I  rather  fear  it  is  from 
the  beef-steak  pie  that  is  opposite  to  us,  the  crust  of  which  is 
made  with  some  very  bad  butter,  that  comes  from  my  coun- 
try.' Just  at  that  moment  Dr.  Johnson  sent  his  plate  for 
some  of  it,  and  Burke  helped  him  to  very  little,  which  he  soon 
dispatched,  and  returned  his  plate  for  more.  Burke,  without 
thought,  exclaimed, « I  am  glad  that  you  are  able  so  well  to 
relish  this  beef-steak  pie.'  Johnson,  not  at  all  pleased  that 
what  he  eat  should  ever  be  noticed,  immediately  retorted, 
« There  is  a  time  of  life,  sir,  when  a  man  requires  the  repairs 
of  a  table.' 

Before  dinner  was  finished,  Mr.  Garrick  came  in,  full  dressed, 
made  many  apologies  for  being  so  much  later  than  he  intended, 
but  he  had  been  unexpectedly  detained  at  the  House  of  Lords, 
and  Lord  Camden  had  absolutely  insisted  upon  setting  him 


lii  ANECDOTES    OF    GOLDSMITH. 

down  at  the  door  of  the  hotel  in  his  own  carriage.  Johnson 
said  nothing,  but  he  looked  a  volume. 

During  the  afternoon,  some  literary  dispute  arose;  but  John- 
son sat  silent,  till  the  Dean  of  Derry  very  respectfully  said, 
'  We  all  wish,  sir,  for  your  opinion  on  the  subject.'  Johnson 
inclined  his  head,  and  never  shone  more  in  his  life  than  at  that 
period:  he  replied  without  any  pomp;  he  was  perfectly  clear 
and  explicit,  full  of  the  subject,  and  left  nothing  undetermined. 
There  was  a  pause,  and  he  was  then  hailed  with  astonishment 
by  all  the  company.  The  evening  in  general  passed  off  very 
pleasantly:  some  talked  perhaps  for  amusement,  and  others 
for  victory.  We  sat  very  late ;  and  the  conversation  that  at 
last  ensued  was  the  direct  cause  of  my  friend  Goldsmith's  poem, 
called  '  Retaliation.' 

Dr.  Goldsmith  and  I  never  quarrelled,  for  he  was  convinced 
that  I  had  a  real  regard  for  him;  but  a  kind  of  civil  sparring 
continually  took  place  between  us.  '  You  are  so  attached,' 
says  he,  « to  Hurd,  Gray,  and  Mason,  that  you  think  nothing 
good  can  proceed  but  out  of  that  formal  school.  Now  I'll 
mend  Gray's  Elegy,  by  leaving  out  an  idle  word  in  every 
line,'  — « And  for  me,  Doctor,  completely  spoil  it.' 

1  The  curfew  tolls  the  knell  of  day, 

The  lowing  herd  winds  o'er  the  lea; 
The  ploughman  homeward  plods  his  way, 
And ' 

« Enough,  enough'!  I  have  no  ear  for  more.' 

« Cradock  (after  a  pause),  I  am  determined  to  come  down 
into  the  country,  and  make  some  stay  with  you,  and  I  will 
build  you  an  ice-house.'  —  'Indeed,  my  dear  Doctor,'  I  replied, 
'  you  will  not;  you  have  got  the  strangest  notion  in  the  world 
of  making  amends  to  your  friends,  wherever  you  go;  I  hope, 
if  you  favour  me  with  a  visit,  that  you  will  consider  your  own 
company  is  the  best  recompense.'  —  'Well,'  says  Goldsmith, 
'that  is  civilly  enough  expressed;  but  I  should  like  to  build 
you  an  ice-house :  I  have  built  two  already,  they  are  perfect, 
and  this  should  be  a  pattern  to  all  your  country.' 

'  I  dined  yesterday,'  says  he,  laying  down  his  papers, « in 


ANECDOTES    OF    GOLDSMITH.  liii 

company  with  three  of  your  friends,  and  I  talked  at  every 
thing.'  —  'And  they  would  spare  you  in  nothing.'  —  'I  cared 
not  for  that,  I  persisted ;  but  I  declare  solemnly  to  you,  that, 
though  I  angled  the  whole  evening,  I  never  once  obtained  a 
bite.'  » 

'  You  are  all  of  you,'  continued  he,  '  absolutely  afraid  of 
Johnson  :  now  I  attack  him  boldly,  and  without  the  least 
reserve.'  — « You  do,  Doctor,  and  sometimes  catch  a  Tartar.' 
—  'If  it  were  not  for  me,  he  would  be  insufferable :  if  you  re- 
i  ^mber  the  last  time  we  ever  supped  together,  he  sat  sulky 
and  growling,  but  I  resolved  to  fetch  him  out.'  —  'You  did, 
and  at  last  he  told  you  that  he  would  have  no  more  of  your 
fooleries.' 

It  was  always  thought  fair  by  some  persons  to  make  what 
stories  they  pleased  of  Dr.  Goldsmith,  and  the  following  was 
freely  circulated  in  ridicule  of  him  :  '  That  he  attended  the 
Fantoccini  in  Penton-street,  and  that  from  envy  he  wished  to 
excel  the  dexterity  of  one  of  the  puppets.'  I  was  of  the  party, 
and  remember  no  more  than  that  the  Doctor,  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Ludlain  of  St.  John's  College,  and  some  others,  went  together 
to  see  the  puppetshow:  there  we  were  all  greatly  entertained, 
and  many  idle  remarks  might  possibly  be  made  by  all  of  ua 
during  the  evening.  Mr.  Ludlain  afterwards  laughingly  de- 
clared, that  he  believed  he  must  shut  up  all  his  experiments 
at  Cambridge  and  Leicester  in  future,  and  take  lectures  only 
during  the  winter  from  Fantoccinis,  and  the  expert  mechanists 
of  both  the  royal  theatres. 

The  'greatest  real  fault  of  Dr.  Goldsmith  was,  that,  if  he  had 
thirty  pounds  in  his  pocket,  he  would  go  into  certain  companies 
in  the  country,  and,  in  hopes  of  doubling  the  sum,  would  gene- 
rally return  to  town  without  any  part  of  it. 

One  of  the  worst  affrays  that  Dr.  Goldsmith  ever  engaged 
in  was  with  Evans  the  bookseller,  of  Paternoster  Row.  Evans 
was  the  editor  of  the  Universal  Magazine,  and  had  suffered  a 
most  offensive  article  to  be  inserted  therein,  which  turned  to 
ridicule  not  only  the  Doctor,  but  some  ladies  of  the  highest 
respectability.  The  Doctor  unfortunately  went  to  dine  with 
the  family,  in  Westminster,  just  after  they  had  read  this  in- 


IlV  ANECDOTES    OF    GOLDSMITH. 

suiting  article,  and  they  were  all  most  highly  indignant  at  it. 
The  Doctor,  agonized  all  dinner-time,  but,  as  soon  as  possible 
afterwards,  he  stole  away,  set  off  in  great  haste  for  Paternoster 
Row,  and  caned  Evans  in  his  own  shop.  This  was  every  way  a 
terrible  affair,  and  I  privately  consulted  with  Dr.*Johnson  con- 
cerning it.  He  said, '  that  this  at  any  time  would  have  been 
highly  prejudicial  to  Goldsmith,  but  particularly  now;  '  and 
he  advised  me,  as  I  was  intimate  with  both,  that  I  should  call 
upon  Evans,  and  endeavour  to  get  tho  matter  adjusted.  I  fol- 
lowed his  advice,  and  Evans  really  behaved  very  kindly  to  me 
on  the  occasion.  I  truly  urged, « that  this  publication  had  cut 
off  Dr.  Goldsmith  from  the  society  of  one  of  the  most  friendly 
houses  that  he  had  ever  frequented,  and  that  he  could  not  have 
tortured  him  in  a  more  tender  point.'  Evans  calmly  attended 
to  me ;  and,  after  much  negotiation,  and  the  interference  of 
several  discreet  friends,  this  vexatious  affair  was  at  last  finally 
got  rid  of.  The  name  of  Johnson  on  such  an  affray  will  per- 
haps remind  the  reader,  that  he  himself  once  knocked  down  a 
very  worthy  bookseller  in  his  own  shop,  at  Gray's  Inn  (as 
related  by  Boswell).  The  story  was  currently  reported,  and 
caused  the  following  extempore,  which  has  never  extended 
before  beyond  a  private  circulation:  — 

'  When  Johnson,  with  tremendous  step  and  slow, 
Fully  determin'd,  deigns  to  fell  the  foe, 
E'en  the  earth  trembles,  thunders  roll  around, 
And  mighty  Osborne's  self  lies  levell'd  with  the  ground.' 

'  Lie  still,  sir,'  said  Johnson, « that  you  may  not  give  me  a 
second  trouble.'  Mr.  Nichols  once  asked  Dr.  Johnson,  '  if  the 
story  was  true.'  — '  No,  sir,  it  was  not  in  his  shop,  it  was  in 
my  own  house.' 

I  had  not  seen  or  heard  from  Dr.  Goldsmith  for  a  very  con- 
siderable time,  till  I  came  to  town  with  my  wife,  who  was  to 
place  herself  under  the  care  of  Mr.  Parkinson,  dentist,  in  Fleet- 
street,  for  rather  a  dangerous  operation;  and  we  took  lodgings 
in  Norfolk-street,  that  we  might  be  in  his  neighbourhood- 
tioldsmith  I  found  much  altered,  and  at  times  very  low;  and 
I  devoted  almost  all  my  mornings  to  his  immediate  service. 
He  wished  me  to  look  over  and  revise  some  of  his  works;  but, 


ANECDOTES    OF    GOLDSMITH.  Iv 

with  a  select  friend  or  two,  I  was  most  pressing  that  he  should 
publish,  by  subscription,  his  two  celebrated  poems  of  '  The  Tra- 
veller '  and  'The  Deserted  Village,'  with  notes;  for  he  was 
well  aware  that  I  was  no  stranger  to  Johnson's  having  made 
some  little  addition  to  the  one,  and  possibly  had  suggested  some 
corrections  at  least  for  the  other ;  but  the  real  meaning  was  to 
give  some  great  persons  an  opportunity  of  delicately  conveying 
pecuniary  relief,  of  which  the  Doctor  at  that  time  was  parti- 
cularly in  need.  Goldsmith  readily  gave  up  to  me  his  private 
copies,  and  said,  ' Pray,  do  what  you  please  with  them.'  But, 
whilst  he  sat  near  me,  he  rather  submitted  to  than  encouraged 
my  zealous  proceedings. 

I  one  morning  called  upon  him,  however,  and  found  him  infi- 
nitely better  than  I  expected,  and  in  a  kind  of  exulting  style 
he  exclaimed, '  Here  are  some  of  the  best  of  my  prose  writings: 
I  have  been  hard  at  work  ever  since  midnight,  and  I  desire  you 
to  examine  them.'  'These,'  said  I,  'are  excellent  indeed.' 
'  They  are,'  replied  he,  '  intended  as  an  introduction  to  a  body 
of  arts  and  sciences.'  'If  so,  Dr.  Goldsmith,  let  me  most 
seriously  entreat,  thai;,  as  your  name  is  to  be  prefixed,  more 
care  may  be  taken  by  those  who  are  to  compile  the  work  than 
has  formerly  been  the  case,  when  Knaresborough  was  printed 
for  Naseby,  and  Yorkshire  for  Northamptonshire;  and  you 
know  what  was  the  consequence  with  Mr.  Cadell.' 

We  entered  on  various  topics,  and  I  left  him  that  morning 
seemingly  much  relieved. 

The  day  before  I  was  to  set  out  from  town  for  Leicestershire, 
I  insisted  upon  his  dining  with  us.  He  replied,  '  I  will ;  but 
on  one  condition,  that  you  will  not  ask  me  to  eat  any  thing.' 
'Nay,'  said  I,  '  this  answer,  Goldsmith,  is  absolutely  unkind; 
for  I  had  hoped,  as  we  are  entirely  served  from  the  Crown 
and  Anchor,  that  you  would  have  named  something  that  you 
might  have  relished.'  'Well,'  says  he,  'if  you  will  but  ex- 
plain it  to  Mrs.  Cradock,  I  will  certainly  wait  upon  you.' 

The  Doctor  found,  as  usual,  at  my  apartments,  newspapers 
and  pamphlets,  and  with  a  pen  and  ink  he  amused  himself  as 
well  as  he  could.  I  had  ordered  from  the  tavern  some  fish,  a 
roasted  joint  of  lamb,  and  a  tart;  and  the  Doctor  either  sat 


Ivi  ANECDOTES    OF    GOLDSMITH. 

down  or  walked  about,  just  as  he  liked.  After  dinner  he  took 
some  wine  with  biscuits ;  but  I  was  soon  obliged  to  leave  him 
for  a  while,  as  I  had  matters  to  settle  for  our  next  day's  jour- 
ney. On  my  return,  coffee  was  ready ;  and  the  Doctor  appeared 
more  cheerful  (for  Mrs.  Cradock  was  always  rather  a  favourite 
with  him),  and  in  the  course  of  the  evening  he  endeavoured  to 
talk  and  remark  as  usual,  but  all  was  force.  He  stayed  till 
midnight,  and  I  insisted  on  seeing  him  safe  home;  and  we 
most  cordially  shook  hands  at  the  Temple  gate. 

Dr.  Goldsmith  did  not  live  long  after  our  return  into  Leices- 
tershire, and  I  have  often  since  regretted  that  I  did  not  remain 
longer  in  town  at  every  inconvenience.  Yet,  alas!  what  could 
I  have  donel  With  one  or  two  select  friends,  I  might  have 
stood  by  his  bedside,  deeply  lamenting  his  most  unfortunate 
fate,  till  he,  in  a  last  agony,  would  have  exclaimed,  — 


• '  Dear  friends,  adieu! 


For,  see,  the  hounds  are  full  in  view.' 

DR.  GOLDSMITH. 

I  AM  aware  that  what  I  am  about  to  relate  will  somewhat 
subject  myself  to  ridicule.  It  was  the  fashion  of  some  authors 
frequently  to  retail  poor  Goldsmith's  absurdities;  but  they, 
at  times,  misrepresented  or  exaggerated.  I  recollect  one 
evening  he  had  launched  out  unboundedly,  and  next  morning 
I  ventured  to  say  to  him,  that '  I  was  surprised  that  in  that 
company  he  would  lay  himself  so  open.'  His  answer  was, 
I  believe  I  did;  I  fired  at  them  all;  I  angled  all  the  night,  but 
I  caught  nothing.'  When  he  was  scheming  some  essay  perhaps, 
he  would  force  the  subject  on  every  body,  till  Johnson  has  been 
quite  provoked,  and  at  last  did  say,  '  My  dear  Doctor,  let  us 
have  no  more  of  your  fooleries  to-night.'  Mr.  Boswell  and 
others  have  given  some  account  of  these  particular  absurdities 
of  Goldsmith  relative  to  the  Fantoccini,  then  exhibiting  in  Lon- 
don; and  as  I  was  present  at  the  greater  part  of  what  then 
passed,  I  will  beg  to  trespass  with  all  the  truth  I  know.  Dr. 
Goldsmith  spoke  most  highly  of  the  performance  in  Panton- 
street,  and  talked  about  bringing  out  a  comedy  of  his  own  there 


ANECDOTES    OF    GOLDSMITH.  Ivii 

In  ridicule.  When  the  Rev.  "Wm.  Ludlam,  the  great  mechanic, 
of  Leicester,  came  to  town,  I  often  talked  about  Goldsmith  to 
him,  and  persuaded  him  to  go  and  see  the  puppetshow.  He 
was  quite  surprised  and  entertained,  and  declared  that,  at  the 
conclusion  of  the  little  comedy,  the  puppets  acted  so  naturally, 
that,  though  he  placed  himself  close  to  the  stage,  he  could 
scarce  detect  either  string  or  wire.  I  was  with  Goldsmith 
there;  but  whether  that  night  or  not  I  cannot  specify.  Gold- 
smith merely  was  made  known  to  Ludlam  by  me,  and  his  low 
huuiour  was  not  ill  adapted  to  Ludlam 's  own  style  of  conversa- 
tion; however,  I  will  add  Mr.  Ludlam 's  own  remark:  'I  have 
caught  many  a  cold  by  examining  the  dock-yards ;  however,  in 
future,  I  believe,  I  must  come  to  London,  and  instead  of  attend- 
ing our  mechanical  societies,  and  rummaging  for  improvements 
afterwards,  I  must  only  visit  Fantoccinis,  and  frequent  the  har- 
lequin farces.  I  cannot  guess  where  the  managers  collect  all 
these  able  mechanists.'  Ludlam  was  likewise  excessively  fond 
of  music,  and  I  introduced  Mrs.  Barthelemon  to  him  at  Leices- 
ter. She  was  a  great  favourite ;  and  many  of  my  musical  friends 
very  kindly  entertained  him  in  town  with  particular  perform- 
ances, and  he  was  offered  to  take  an  interior  view  of  both  the 
great  theatres.  Ludlam  occasionally  entertained  his  friends 
at  Leicester  with  some  Chinese  tumblers,  which  he  had  made. 
They  were  dressed  puppets,  with  quicksilver  in  the  veins,  and 
surprised  even  at  Cambridge.  However*  on  leaving  London 
this  time,  ho  turned  to  me,  and  slily  said,  '  The  first  thing 
I  shall  do  at  my  return  will  be  to  burn  my  Chinese  tumblers.' 

Polly  Pattens,  in  the  Puppetshow,*  meant  Mrs.  Yates ;  but, 
•whim  Foote  mentioned  the  names  of  Kelly,  Cumberland,  and 
Cradock  on  the  stage,  the  audience  would  not  permit  him  to 
proceed.  The  scene  was  printed  in  the  Bon  Ton  Magazine, 
and  illustrated  by  a  good  print,  representing  Foote,  a  strong 
likeness,  the  Devil,  Polly  Pattens,  Harlequin,  Punch,  and 
Stevens. 

Goldsmith  at  that  time  greatly  wished  to  bring  out  a  comedy ; 

*  This  made  its  first  appearance  at  the  Haymarket  Theatre,  Feb. 
15,  1753,  under  the  title  of  the  '  Handsome  Housemaid,  or  Piety  to 
Pattens.'  —  Ed. 


Ivili  ANECDOTES    OF    GOLDSMITH. 

but  he  had  powerful  rivals  to  contend  with,  who  were  in  full 
possession  of  the  town.  Goldsmith's  turn  was  for  very  low  hu- 
mour, always  dangerous;  but  when  some  authors  hinted  to 
him,  that,  for  a  man  to  write  genteel  comedy,  it  waa  necessary 
that  he  should  be  well  acquainted  with  high  life  himself, 
•True,'  says  Goldsmith;  'and  if  any  of  you  have  a  character 
of  a  truly  elegant  lady  in  high  life,  who  is  neither  a  coquette 
nor  a  prude,  I  hope  you  will  favour  me  with  it.'  Some  one 
observed  that  Millament  *  was  the  most  refined  character  he 
recollected  in  any  Comedy,  neither  a  prude  nor  a  coquette; 
and  1  then  ventured  to  say,  that,  'however  refined  Millament 
might  be,  I  thought  no  very  delicate  lady  would  now  venture 
upon  her  raillery  of  Mirabel,  who  declares, « When  I'm  mar- 
ried to  you,  I'll  positively  get  up  in  a  morning  as  early  as  I 
please ; '  and  the  refined  and  delicate  lady  replies, '  Oh,  to  be 
sure ;  get  up,  idle  creature  ! '  The  cry  was,  '  Goldsmith  is 
envious;  but  surely  it  was  a  little  irritating  to  hear  the  town 
ring  with  applause  of  Garrick,  and  see  him  courted  everywhere, 
and  in  the  height  of  splendour,  whilst  he  perhaps  had  only  to 
retire  impransus  to  the  Temple. 

About  the  time  that  I  think  Boswell  wrote  a  prologue  in 
compliment  to  Johnson  at  Lichfield,  a  proposal  was  made  for 
the  play  of  the  Beaux  Stratagem  to  be  acted  there,  by  a  party 
of  friends,  in  honour  of  Johnson  and  Garrick.  Mr.  Yates 
offered  all  assistance  from  Birmingham,  where  he  was  then 
manager,  and,  if  required,  to  play  Scrub.  '  No,'  says  Goldsmith, 
'I  should  of  all  things  like  to  try  my  hand  at  that  character.' 
Several  smiled,  thinking  perhaps  of  his  assuming  such  a  part, 
who  frequently,  with  his  gold-headed  cane,  assumed  the  real 
character  of  doctor  of  physio.  However,  the  thought  amused 
Goldsmith  at  the  time.  It  was  the  fashion  to  say,  that  Gold- 
smith's tarn  was  merely  for  low  humour;  and  that  his  Vicar,  his 
Moses,  and  his  Tony  Lumpkin,  were  characters  now  obsolete. 
However,  Goldsmith  often  retaliated  with  good  effect.  Dick 
Yates  at  that  time  was  much  admired  in  old  Fondlewife,  and 
Goldsmith  said  he '  was  surprised,in  this  refined  age,  to  see  Lord 

*  In  the  comedy  of  '  The  Constant  Couple,  or  a  Trip  to  the  Jubi- 
lee,' by  George  Farquhar,  acted  at  Drury  Lan«,  1700.  —  Ed. 


ANECDOTES    OF   GOLDSMITH.  lix 

North  and  all  his  family  in  the  stage-box:  to  be  sare,  Mr. 
Yates  being  admonished  not  to  sing  "  The  Soldier  and  the 
Sailor,"  iu  another  refined  comedy,  was  a  good  sign  of  delicacy.' 
I  was,  however,  with  Mr.  Yates  at  his  house  just  after  he  had 
received  this  order;  and  he  expressed  himself  in  violent  terms 
against  it,  insomuch  that  I  doubted  whether  he  would  play 
the  part  of  Ben,  unless  permitted  as  for  forty  years  past.  At 
last  he  complied. 

I  wrote  an  epilogue  in  the  character  of  Tony  Lumpkin,  for 
'  She  Stoops  to  Conquer,'  and  likewise  the  following  s6*ng:  — 

TALLY-HO! 

A  SOya,  INTENDED  TO  HAVE  BECf  8UNO  BY  MB.  QUICK,  15  THE  CHA- 
RACTER OF  TONY  LUMPKIN,  IN  GOLDSMITH'S  COMEDY  OF  '  SHE  STOOPS 
TO  CONQUER.' 

MINE  alone  is  the  age 
When  all  pleasures  engage 

That  horses  and  hounds  can  bestow; 
Among  the  great  folks, 
What  their  whims  and  their  jokes, 

Compar'd  with  a  good  Tally-ho! 

To  learn  the  soft  airs 
Of  your  opera-players, 

For  ever  the  fine  ladies  go ; 
Ah !  what  are  such  joys 
But  low  trifles  and  toys, 
/         Compar'd  with  a  good  Tally-ho  1 

They  say  that  in  time 
I  should  marry  —  refine, 

If  to  courts  and  their  balls  I  would  go; 
But  when  tied  up  for  life 
To  a  termagant  wife, 

In  vain  I  might  cry  Tally-ho1 

The  epilogue  and  song  were  intended  for  Mr.  Quick.  He 
would,  if  any  one,  have  carried  them  both  through.  The  epi- 
logue was  thought  too  personal,  and  occasioned  some  dissension, 
though  not  with  my  friend  Goldsmith.  That  curtailed  and 


IX  ANECDOTES    OF    GOLDSMITH. 

printed  at  the  end  of  the  comedy  was  without  either  my  know- 
ledge or  consent.  Some  of  the  allusions  might  bo  rather  trop 
libre,  but  it  had  reference  to  Foote's  Puppetshow,  which  cer- 
tainly was  not  expected  to  be  strictly  correct;  nor  was  the 
character  of  Tony  Luinpkin  too  refined.  No  comic  prologue 
was  ever  more  admired  than  Garrick's  to  'Barbarossa;  '  but 
what  is  a  part  of  ill 

I  particularly  recollect,  that  when  Goldsmith  was  near  com- 
pleting his  « Natural  History,'  he  sent  to  Dr.  Percy,  and  me, 
to  state  that  he  wished  not  to  return  to  town,  from  Windsor,  I 
think,  for  a  fortnight,  if  we  would  only  complete  a  proof  that 
lay  upon  his  table  in  the  Temple.  It  was  concerning  birds, 
and  many  books  lay  open  that  he  occasionally  consulted  for 
his  own  materials.  We  met  by  appointment ;  and  Dr.  Percy, 
smiling,  said, « Do  you  know  any  thing  about  birds'? '  «  Not 
an  atom,'  was  my  reply :  « do  you! '  '  Not  I,'  says  he ;  '  scarce 
know  a  goose  from  a  swan:  however,  let  us  try  what  we  can 
do.'  We  set  to  work,  and  our  task  was  not  very  difficult. 
Some  time  after  the  work  appeared,  we  compared  notes,  but 
could  not  either  of  us  recognize  our  own  share. 

I  come  now  to  the  last  day  but  one  I  passed  with  poor 
Goldsmith  (see  vol.  i.  p.  234),  whose  loss  (with  whatever 
faults  he  might  have)  I  shall  ever  lament  whilst « memory  of 
him  holds  its  seat.'  At  his  breakfast  in  the  Temple,  as  sual, 
I  offered  every  aid  in  my  power  as  to  his  works;  some  amend- 
ments had  been  agreed  upon  in  his  '  Deserted  Village.'  Some 
of  the  bad  lines  in  the  latter  I  have  by  me  marked.  <  As  to 
my  "  Hermit,"  that  poem,  Cradock,  cannot  be  amended.'  I 
knew  he  had  been  offered  ten  pounds  for  the  copy,  and  it  was 
introduced  into  the  « Vicar  of  Wakefield,'  to  which  he  applied 
himself  entirely  for  a  fortnight,  to  pay  a  journey  to  Wakefield. 
« As  my  business  then  lay  there,'  said  he,  '  that  was  my  reason 
for  fixing  on  Wakefield  as  the  field  of  action.  I  never  took 
more  pains  than  in  the  first  volume  of  my  "Natural  His- 
tory, "  surely  that  was  good,  and  I  was  handsomely  paid  for 
(he  whole. 

<My  "Roman  History,"  Johnson  says,  is  well  abridged.* 
Indeed,  I  could  have  added,  that  Johnson  (when  Goldsmith 


ANECDOTES    OF    GOLDSMITH.  Ixi 

was  absent)  would  frequently  say,  '  Why,  sir,  whatever  that 
man  touches  he  adorns; '  for,  like  Garrick,  when  not  present, 
he  considered  him  as  a  kind  of  sacred  character.  After  a 
general  review  of  papers  lying  before  him,  I  took  leave  ;  . 
when,  turning  to  his  study  table,  he  pointed  to  an  article  I 
had  procured  for  him,  and  said,  '  You  are  kindest  to  me.' 
I  only  replied,  •  You  mean  more  rude  and  saucy  than  some 
others.'  However,  much  of  the  conversation  took  a  more 
melancholy  tone  than  usual,  and  I  became  very  uneasy 
about  him. 

When  I  returned  to  town  after  his  death  (see  vol.  i.  p.  236), 
I  had  an  interview  with  his  nephew,  an  apothecary  in  New- 
man-street, and  the  two  sisters  milliners,  the  Miss  Gunns, 
who  resided  at  a  house  at  the  corner  of  Temple  Lane,  who 
were  always  most  attentive  to  him,  and  who  once  said  to  me 
most  feelingly, '  Oh  !  sir,  sooner  persuade  him  to  let  us  work 
for  him  gratis,  than  suffer  him  to  apply  to  any  other.  We 
are  sure  that  he  will  pay  us  if  he  can.'  Circumstanced  as 
he  was,  I  know  not  what  more  could  have  been  done  for  him. 
It  was  said  he  improperly  took  laudanum;  but  all  was  in- 
wardly disturbed.  Had  the  Doctor  freely  laid  open  all  the 
debts  he  had  contracted,  I  am  certain  that  his  zealous  friends 
were  so  numerous  that  they  would  freely  have  contributed  to 
his  relief.  I  mean  here  explicitly  to  assert  only,  that  I  be- 
lieve he  died  miserably,  and  that  his  friends  were  not  entirely 
aware  of  his  distress. 

Where  the  Doctor  thought  there  was  a  sincere  regard,  he 
was  not  fastidious,  but  would  listen  with  attention  to  the 
remonstrance  of  one  whom  he  believed  to  be  his  friend;  and 
when  he  assented  to  give  his  name,  for  a  mere  trifle,  to  a  new 
publication,  about  which  he  never  meant  to  give  himself  much 
trouble,  I  more  than  once  spoke  freely  to  him. 

Goldsmith  and  I  (with  great  satisfaction  I  now  speak  it) 
never  had  a  serious  dispute  in  our  lives;  we  freely  gave  and 
took.  He  rallied  me  on  my  Cambridge  pedantry,  and  I  hinted 
at  illegitimate  education;  for,  to  speak  on  my  mended  judg- 
ment, Johnson,  he,  Garrick,  and  some  others,  had  convinced 
me  '  that  all  literature  was  not  confined  to  our  own  academical 


Ixii  ANECDOTES    OF    GOLDSMITH. 

world.'     Goldsmith  truly  said,  I  was  nibbling  about  elegant 
phrases,  whilst  he  was  obliged  to  write  half  a  volume. 


DAVIES'S  LIFE  OF  GARBICK. 

DR.  GOLDSMITH  having  tried  his  genius  in  several  modes  of 
writing,  in  essays,  descriptive  poetry,  and  history,  was  advised 
to  apply  himself  to  that  species  of  composition  which  is  said  to 
have  been  long  the  most  fruitful  in  the  courts  of  Parnassus. 
The  writer  of  plays  has  been  ever  supposed  to  pursue  the 
quickest  road  to  the  temple  of  Plutus. 

The  Doctor  was  a  perfect  heteroclite,  an  inexplicable  exist- 
ence in  creation;  such  a  compound  of  absurdity,  envy,  and 
malice,  contrasted  with  the  opposite  virtues  of  kindness,  gene- 
rosity, and  benevolence,  that  he  might  be  said  to  consist  of 
two  distinct  souls,  and  influenced  by  the  agency  of  a  good  and 
bad  spirit. 

The  first  knowledge  •  Mr.  Garrick  had  of  his  abilities  was 
from  an  attack  upon  him  by  Goldsmith,  when  he  was  but  a 
very  young  author,  in  a  book  called  '  The  Present  State  of 
Learning.'  Amongst  other  abuses  of  the  times  (for  the  Doc- 
tor loved  to  dwell  upon  grievances),  he  took  notice  of  the 
behaviour  of  managers  to  authors.  This  must  surely  have 
proceeded  from  the  most  generous  principles  of  reforming 
what  was  amiss  for  the  benefit  of  others,  for  the  Doctor  at  that 
time  had  not  the  most  distant  view  of  commencing  dramatic 
author. 

Little  did  Goldsmith  imagine  he  should  one  day  be  obliged 
to  ask  a  favour  from  the  director  of  a  playhouse ;  however, 
when  the  office  of  secretary  to  the  Society  of  Arts  and  Sciences 
became  vacant,  the  Doctor  was  persuaded  to  offer  himself 
a  candidate.  He  was  told  that  Mr.  Garrick  was  a  leading 
member  of  that  learned  body,  and  his  interest  and  recom- 
mendation would  be  of  consequence  to  enforce  hia  preten- 
sions. 


ANECDOTES    OF    GOLDSMITH.  Ixiil 

He  waited  upon  the  manager,  and,  in  few  words,  requested 
his  vote  and  interest.  Mr.  Garrick  could  not  avoid  observ- 
ing to  him,  that  it  was  impossible  he  could  lay  claim  to  any 
recommendation  from  him,  as  he  had  taken  pains  to  deprive 
himself  of  his  assistance  by  an  unprovoked  attack  upon  his 
management  of  the  theatre,  in  his  State  of  Learning.  Gold- 
smith, instead  of  making  an  apology  for  his  conduct,  either 
from  misinformation  or  misconception,  bluntly  replied,  '  In 
truth  he  had  spoken  his  mind,  and  believed  what  he  said  was 
very  right.'  The  manager  dismissed  him  with  civility;  and 
Goldsmith  lost  the  office  by  a  very  great  majority,  who  voted 
in  favour  of  Dr.  Templeman. 

The  Doctor's  reputation,  which  was  daily  increasing  from  a 
variety  of  successful  labours,  was  at  length  lifted  so  high 
that  he  escaped  from  indigence  and  obscurity  to  competence 
and  fame. 

The  first  man  of  the  age,  one  who,  from  the  extensiveness 
of  his  genius  and  benevolence  of  his  mind,  is  superior  to  the 
little  envy  and  mean  jealousy  which  adhere  so  closely  to  most 
authors,  and  especially  to  those  of  equivocal  merit,  took  plea- 
sure in  introducing  Dr.  Goldsmith  to  his  intimate  friends, 
persons  of  eminent  rank  and  distinguished  abilities.  The 
Doctor's  conversation  by  no  means  corresponded  with  the 
idea  formed  of  him  from  his  writings. 

The  Duchess  of  Rambouillet,  who  was  charmed  with  the 
tragedies  of  Corneille,  wished  to  have  so  great  an  author 
amongst  her  constant  visitors,  expecting  infinite  entertainment 
from  the  writer  of  the  Cid,  the  Horace,  and  Cinna.  But  the 
poet  lost  himself  in  society ;  he  held  no  rank  with  the  beaux 
esprits  who  met  at  the  hotel  of  this  celebrated  lady;  his  con- 
versation w.as  dry,  unpleasant,  and  what  the  French  call 
distrait.  So  Dr.  Goldsmith  appeared  in  company  to  have  no 
spark  of  that  genius  which  shone  forth  so  brightly  in  his 
writings;  his  address  was  awkward,  his  manner  uncouth,  his 
language  unpolished,  his  elocution  was  continually  interrupted 
by  disagreeable  hesitation,  and  he  was  always  unhappy  if  the 
conversation  did  not  turn  upon  himself. 


Ixiv  ANECDOTES    OF    GOLDSMITH. 

To  manifest  his  intrepidity  in  argument,  he  would  gene- 
rously espouse  the  worst  side  of  the  question,  and  almost 
always  left  it  weaker  than  he  found  it.  His  jealousy  fixed  a 
perpetual  ridicule  on  his  character,  for  he  was  emulous  of 
every  thing  and  everybody.  He  went  with  some  friends  to 
see  the  entertainment  of  the  Fantoccini,  whose  uncommon 
agility  and  quick  evolutions  were  much  celebrated.  The 
Doctor  was  asked  how  he  liked  these  automatons.  He  replied, 
he  was  surprised  at  the  applause  bestowed  on  the  little  insig- 
nificant creatures,  for  he  could  have  performed  their  exercises 
much  better  himself.  When  his  great  literary  friend  was 
commended  in  his  hearing,  he  could  not  restrain  his  uneasi- 
ness, but  exclaimed,  in  a  kind  of  agony,  '  No  more,  I  desire 
you;  you  harrow  up  my  soul! '  More  absurd  stories  may  be 
recorded  of  Goldsmith  than  of  any  man:  his  absence  of  mind 
would  not  permit  him  to  attend  to  time,  place,  or  company. 
When  at  the  table  of  a  nobleman  of  high  rank  and  great 
accomplishments,  one  to  whom  England  stands  indebted  in 
many  obligations,  and  it  is  hoped  that  he  will  more  and  more 
increase  the  debt  by  his  continual  and  vigorous  efforts  to 
secure  her  happiness,  —  to  this  great  man  Goldsmith  observed, 
that  he  was  called  by  the  name  of  Malagrida;  '  but  I  protest 
and  vow  to  your  lordship,  I  can't  conceive  for  what  reason ; 
for  Malagrida*  was  an  honest  man.' 

In  short,  his  absurdities  were  so  glaring,  and  his  whole 
conduct  so  contradictory  to  common  sense,  and  so  opposite  to 
what  was  expected  from  a  man  of  his  admirable  genius,  that 
a  gentleman  of  strong  discernment  characterised  him  by  the 
name  of  the  Inspired  Idiot. 

When  the  Doctor  had  finished  his  comedy  of  The  Good- 
natured  Man,  he  was  advised  to  offer  it  to  Mr.  Garrick. 
The  manager  was  fully  conscious  of  his  merit,  and  perhaps 
more  ostentatious  of  his  abilities  to  serve  a  dramatic  author 

*  A  Portuguese  Jesuit,  put  to  the  stake  by  the  Inquisition  un- 
der the  charge  of  heresy,  his  real  offence  being  his  intimacy  with 
certain  political  offenders.  The  nobleman  alluded  to  was  Lord  Shel- 
burne. 


ANECDOTES    OF    GOLDSMITH.  IxV 

than  became  a  man  of  his  prudence.  Goldsmith  was,  on  his 
side,  as  fully  persuaded  of  his  own  importance  and  independent 
greatness.  Mr.  Garrick,  who  had  been  so  long  treated  with 
the  complimentary  language  paid  to  a  successful  patentee  and 
admired  actor,  expected  that  the  writer  would  esteem  the 
patronage  of  his  play  as  a  favour  :  Goldsmith  rejected  all 
ideas  of  kindness  in  a  bargain  that  was  intended  to  be  of 
mutual  advantage  to  both  parties;  and  in  this  he  was  cer- 
tainly justifiable.  Mr.  Garrick  could  reasonably  expect  no 
thanks  for  the  acting  a  new  play,  which  he  would  have  re- 
jected if  he  had  not  been  convinced  it  would  have  amply 
rewarded  his  pains  and  expense.  I  believe  the  manager  was 
willing  to  accept  the  play ;  but  he  wished  to  be  courted  to  it, 
and  the  Doctor  was  not  disposed  to  purchase  his  friendship  by 
the  resignation  of  his  sincerity.  He  then  applied  to  Mr.  Col- 
man,  who  accepted  his  comedy  without  any  hesitation. 

The  Good-natured  Man  bears  strong  marks  of  that  happy 
originality  which  distinguishes  the  writings  of  Dr.  Goldsmith. 
Two  characters  in  this  comedy  were  absolutely  unknown  be- 
fore to  the  English  stage ;  a  man  who  boasts  an  intimacy  with 
persons  of  high  rank  whom  he  never  saw,  and  another  who  is 
almost  always  lamenting  misfortunes  he  never  knew.  Croaker 
is  as  strongly  designed  and  as  highly  finished  a  portrait  of  a 
discontented  man,  of  one  who  disturbs  every  happiness  he 
possesses,  from  apprehension  of  distant  evil,  as  any  character 
of  Congreve,  or  any  other  of  our  English  dramatists.  Shuter 
acted  Croaker  with  that  warm  glee  of  fancy,  and  genuine 
flow  of  humour,  that  always  accompanied  his  best  and 
most  animated  performance.  The  great  applause  and  profit 
which  attended  the  acting  of  this  comedy  contributed  to 
render  the  author  more  important  in  his  own  eyes,  and  in  the 
opinion  of  the  public.  But  no  good  fortune  could  make  Gold- 
smith discreet,  nor  any  increase  of  fame  diminish  his  envy, 
or  cure  the  intractability  of  his  temper.  John  Home  was 
taught  by  experience,  that  his  connexions  with  the  great  were 
of  no  avail  with  the  public,  and  that  courtly  approbation  was 
no  protection  from  popular  dislike ;  he  therefore  veiled  him- 


ANECDOTES    OF    GOLDSMITH. 

self  in  obscurity,  and  prevailed  upon  a  young  gentleman,  his 
friend,  to  adopt  his  play  of  The  Fatal  Discovery;  but  tbe 
foster-father  performed  his  assumed  character  so  awkwardly 
at  the  rehearsal  of  this  tragedy,  that  it  was  soon  discovered 
that  the  child  was  not  his  own;  for  he  submitted  to  have 
the  piece  altered,  lopped,  and  corrected,  with  such  tranquillity 
of  temper  as  the  real  parent  could  not  have  assumed.  Of 
the  true  author  Goldsmith  by  chance  found  out  the  know- 
ledge; and  when  the  play  was  announced  to  the  public,  it  will 
hardly  be  credited,  that  this  man  of  benevolence,  for  such  he 
really  was,  endeavoured  to  muster  a  party  to  condemn  it; 
alleging  this  cogent  reason  for  the  proceeding,  that  such 
« fellows  ought  not  to  be  encouraged.' 

Wits  are  game-cocks  to  one  another ; 
No  author  ever  lov'd  a  brother. 

The  tragedy  of  The  Countess  of  Salisbury,  a  play  in  which 
Mr.  Barry  and  Mrs.  Dancer  displayed  great  powers  of  acting, 
waa  in  a  good  degree  of  favour  with  the  town.  This  was  a 
crime  sufficient  to  rouse  the  indignation  of  Goldsmith,  who 
issued  forth  to  see  it,  and  with  a  determined  resolution  to 
consign  the  play  to  perdition.  He  sat  out  four  acts  of  The 
Countess  of  Salisbury  with  great  calmness  and  seeming  tem- 
per; but,  as  the  plot  thickened,  and  his  apprehension  began 
to  be  terrified  with  the  ideas  of  blood  and  slaughter,  he  got 
up  in  a  great  hurry,  saying,  loud  enough  to  be  heard, '  Brown- 
rig!  Brownrig!  by  G — .' 

Goldsmith  never  wanted  literary  employment.  The  book- 
sellers understood  the  value  of  his  name,  and  did  all  they 
could  to  excite  his  industry;  and  it  cannot  be  denied,  that 
they  rewarded  his  labours  generously.  In  a  few  years  he 
wrote  three  histories  of  England  ;  the  first  in  two  pocket 
volumes  in  letters,  and  another  in  four  volumes  octavo:  the 
first  an  elegant  summary  of  British  transactions,  and  the 
other  an  excellent  abridgment  of  Hume,  and  other  copious 
historians.  These  books  are  in  everybody's  hands.  The 
last  is  a  short  contraction  of  four  volumes  into  one  duo- 


ANECDOTES    OF    GOLDSMITH.  Ixvii 

decimo.      For  writing    these  books    he    obtained    £750   or 
£800. 

His  squabbles  with  booksellers  and  publishers  were  innu- 
merable; his  appetites  and  passions  were  craving  and  violent; 
he  loved  variety  of  pleasures,  but  could  not  devote  himself  to 
industry  long  enough  to  purchase  them  by  his  writings. 
Upon  every  emergency,  half  a  dozen  projects  would  present 
themselves  to  his  mind;  these  he  communicated  to  the  men 
who  were  to  advance  money  on  the  reputation  of  the  author; 
but  the  money  was  generally  spent  long  before  the  new  work 
was  half  finished,  or  perhaps  before  it  was  commenced.  This 
circumstance  naturally  produced  expostulation  and  reproach 
from  one  side,  which  was  often  returned  with  anger  and 
vehemence  on  the  other.  After  much  and  disagreeable  alter- 
cation, one  bookseller  desired  to  refer  the  matter  in  dispute  to 
the  Doctor's  learned  friend,  a  man  of  known  integrity,  and 
one  who  would  favour  no  cause  but  that  of  justice  and  truth. 
Goldsmith  consented,  and  was  enraged  to  find  that  one  author 
should  have  so  little  feeling  for  another  as  to  determine  a  dis- 
pute to  his  disadvantage,  in  favour  of  a  tradesman. 

His  love  of  play  involved  him  in  many  perplexing  diffi- 
culties, and  a  thousand  anxieties;  and  yet  he  had  not  the 
resolution  to  abandon  a  practice  for  which  his  impatience 
of  temper  and  great  unskilfulness  rendered  him  totally  un- 
qualified. 

Though  Mr.  Garrick  did  not  act  his  comedy  of  She  Stoops 
to  Conquer,  yet,  as  he  was  then  upon  very  friendly  terms  with 
the  author,  he  presented  him  with  a  very  humorous  prologue, 
well  accommodated  to  the  author's  intention  of  reviving  fancy, 
wit,  gaiety,  humour,  incident,  and  character,  in  the  place  of 
sentiment  and  moral  preachment. 

Woodward  spoke  this  whimsical  address  in  mourning,  and 
lamented  pathetically  over  poor  dying  Comedy.  To  her  he 
says: — 

A  mawkish  drab  of  spurious  breed, 

TlVho  deals  in  sentimentals,  will  succeed. 

In  the  close  of  the  prologue,  the  Doctor  is  recommended  as 
a  fit  person  to  revive  poor  drooping  Thalia,  with  a  compliment 


Ixviii  ANECDOTES    OF    GOLDSMITH. 

•which  hinted,  I  imagine,  at  some  public  transactions,  of  not 
dealing  in  poisonous  drugs. 

She  Stoops  to  Conquer,  notwithstanding  many  improbabili- 
ties in  the  economy  of  the  plot,  several  farcical  situations,  and 
some  characters  which  are  rather  exaggerated,  is  a  lively  and 
faithful  representation  of  nature ;  genius  presides  over  every 
scene  of  this  play;  the  characters  are  either  new,  or  varied 
improvements  from  other  plays. 

Marlow  has  a  slight  resemblance  of  Charles  in  the  Fop's 
Fortune,  and  something  more  of  Lord  Hardy  in  Steele's 
Funeral  ;  and  yet,  with  a  few  shades  of  these  parts,  he  is 
discriminated  from  both.  Tony  Lumpkin  is  a  vigorous  im- 
provement of  Humphry  Gubbins,  and  a  most  diverting  por- 
trait of  ignorance,  rusticity,  low  cunning,  and  obstinacy. 

Hardcastlo,  his  wife  and  daughter,  I  think,  are  absolutely 
new ;  the  language  is  easy  and  characteristical ;  the  manners 
of  the  times  are  slightly,  but  faithfully,  represented  ;  the 
satire  is  not  ostentatiously  displayed,  but  incidentally  in- 
volved in  the  business  of  the  play;  and  the  suspense  of  the 
audience  is  artfully  kept  up  to  the  last.  This  comedy  was 
very  well  acted.  Hardcastlo  and  Tony  Lumpkin  were  sup- 
ported in  a  masterly  style  by  Shuter  and  Quick ;  so  was  Miss 
Hardcastle  by  Mrs.  Bulkley.  Mrs.  Green,  in  Mrs.  Hard- 
castle,  maintained  her  just  title  to  one  of  the  best  comio 
actresses  of  the  age. 

Though  the  money  gained  by  this  play  amounted  to  a  con- 
siderable sum,  more  especially  so  to  a  man  who  hod  been 
educated  in  straits  and  trained  in  adversity,  yet  his  neces- 
sities soon  became  as  craving  as  ever  :  to  relieve  them,  he 
undertook  a  new  History  of  Greece,  and  a  book  of  animals, 
called  The  History  of  Animated  Nature.  The  first  was  to 
him  an  easy  task;  but,  as  he  was  entirely  unacquainted  with 
the  world  of  animals,  his  friends  were  anxious  for  the  success 
of  his  undertaking.  Notwithstanding  his  utter  ignorance  of 
the  subject,  ho  has  compiled  one  of  the  pleasantcst  and  most 
instructive  books  in  our  language;  I  mean,  that  it  is  not  only 
useful  to  young  minds,  but  entertaining  to  those  who  under- 
stand the  animal  creation. 


ANECDOTES    OF   GOLDSMITH.  Ixix 

Every  thing  of  Goldsmith  seems  to  bear  the  magical  touch 
of  an  enchanter;  no  man  took  less  pains,  and  yet  produced  so 
powerful  an  effect :  the  great  beauty  of  his  composition  con- 
•ists  in  a  clear,  copious,  and  expressive  style 

Goldsmith's  last  work  was  his  poem  called  Retaliation, 
which  the  historian  of  his  life  says  was  written  for  his  own 
amusement,  and  that  of  his  friends,  who  were  the  subject  of 
it.  That  he  did  not  live  to  finish  it  is  to  be  lamented,  for  it 
is  supposed  he  would  have  introduced  more  characters.  "What 
he  has  left  is  so  perfect  in  its  kind,  that  it  stands  not  in  need 
of  a  revisal. 

In  no  part  of  his  works  has  this  author  discovered  a  more 
nice  and  critical  discernment,  or  a  more  perfect  knowledge 
of  human  nature,  than  in  this  poem;  with  wonderful  art  he 
has  traced  all  the  leading  features  of  his  several  portraits,  and 
given  with  truth  the  characteristical  peculiarities  of  each:  no 
man  is  lampooned,  and  no  man  is  flattered. 

The  occasion,  we  are  told,  to  which  we  owe  this  admirable 
poem,  was  a  circumstance  of  festivity.  The  literary  society 
to  which  he  belonged  proposed  to  write  epitaphs  on  the  Doc- 
tor. Mr.  Garrick,  one  of  the  members,  wrote  the  following 
fable  of  Jupiter  and  Mercury,  to  provoke  Goldsmith  to  a 
retaliation. 

JUPITER  AND  MERCURY. 

A   FABLE. 

HERE,  Hermes,  says  Jove,  who  with  nectar  was  mellow, 

Go  fetch  me  some  clay,  I  will  make  an  odd  fellow. 

Right  and  wrong  shall  be  jumbled,  much  gold  and  some  dross ; 

Without  cause  be  he  pleas'd,  without  cause  be  he  cross : 

Be  sure  as  I  work  to  throw  in  contradictions ; 

A  great  lover  of  truth,  yet  a  mind  turn'd  to  fictions. 

Now  mix  these  ingredients,  which,  warm'd  in  the  baking, 

Turn  to  learning  and  gaming,  religion  and  raking. 

With  the  love  of  a  wench,  let  his  writings  be  chaste; 

Tip  his  tongue  with  strange  matter,  his  pen  with  fine  taste. 

That  the  rake  and  the  poet  o'er  all  may  prevail, 

Set  fire  to  his  head,  and  set  fire  to  his  tail. 

For  the  joy  of  each  sex  on  the  world  I'll  bestow  it, 

This  scholar,  rake,  Christian,  dupe,  gamester,  and  poet. 


Ixx  ANECDOTES    OF    GOLDSMITH. 

Though  a  mixture  so  odd,  he  shall  merit  great  fame, 
And  among  brother  mortals  be  Goldsmith  his  name. 
When  on  earth  this  strange  meteor  no  more  shall  appear, 
You,  Hermes,  shall  fetch  him  to  make  us  sport  here. 

There  never  was  surely  a  more  finished  picture,  at  full 
'ength,  given  to  the  world,  than  this  warm  character  of  the 
incomprehensible  and  heterogeneous  Doctor. 

And  here  Doctor  Goldsmith's  portrait  of  Mr.  Garrick  will  b« 
introduced  with  propriety. 

Here  lies  David  Garrick.    Describe  me,  who  can, 

An  abridgment  of  all  that  was  pleasant  in  man. 

As  an  actor,  confess'd  without  rival  to  shine ; 

As  a  wit,  if  not  first,  in  the  very  first  line; 

Yet,  with  talents  like  these,  and  an  excellent  heart, 

The  man  had  his  failings,  a  dupe  to  his  art. 

Like  an  ill-judging  beauty,  his  colours  he  spread, 

And  beplaster'd  with  rouge  his  own  natural  red. 

On  the  stage  he  was  natural,  simple,  affecting ; 

'Twas  only  that,  when  he  was  off,  he  was  acting. 

With  no  reason  on  earth  to  go  out  of  his  way, 

He  turn'd  and  he  varied  full  ten  times  a  day : 

Though  secure  of  our  hearts,  yet  confoundedly  sick, 

If  they  were  not  his  own  by  finessing  and  trick. 

He  cast  off  his  friends,  as  a  huntsman  his  pack ; 

For  he  knew,  when  he  pleas'd,  he  could  whistle  them  back. 

Of  praise  a  mere  glutton,  he  s wallow' d  what  came, 

And  the  puff  of  a  dunce  he  mistook  it  for  fame ; 

Till  his  relish  grown  callous,  almost  to  disease, 

Who  pepper'd  the  highest  was  surest  to  please. 

But  let  us  be  candid,  and  speak  out  our  mind ; 

If  dunces  applauded,  he  paid  them  in  kind. 

Ye  Kenricks,  ye  Kellys,  and  Woodfalls  so  grave, 

What  a  commerce  was  yours,  while  you  got  and  you  gave! 

How  did  Grub-street  re-echo  the  shouts  that  you  rais'd, 

While  he  was  be-Roscius'd  and  you  were  beprais'd ! 

But  peace  to  his  spirit,  wherever  it  flies, 

To  act  as  an  angel,  and  mix  with  the  skies. 

Those  poets  who  owe  their  best  fame  to  his  skill, 

Shall  still  be  his  flatterers,  go  where  he  will  ; 

Old  Shakespeare  receive  him  with  praise  and  with  love, 

And  iJeaumonts  and  Bens  be  his  Kellys  above. 


ANECDOTES    OF    GOLDSMITH.  Ixxi 

The  sum  of  all  that  can  be  said  for  and  against  Mr.  Garrick, 
some  people  think,  may  be  found  in  these  lines  of  Goldsmith. 
That  the  person  upon  which  they  were  written  was  displeased 
with  some  strokes  of  this  character  may  be  gathered  from  the 
following  lines,  which  Mr.  Garrick  wrote  on  the  Retaliation, 
soon  after  it  had  been  produced  to  the  society. 

Are  these  the  choice  dishes  the  Doctor  has  sent  us? 
Is  this  the  great  poet  whose  works  so  content  us? 
This  Goldsmith's  fine  feast,  who  has  written  fine  books? 
Heaven  sends  us  good  meat,  but  the  devil  sends  cooks. 

Candour  must  own  that  Mr.  Garrick,  in  his  verses  on  Gold- 
smith, was  gentle  in  describing  the  subject,  as  well  as  delicate 
in  the  choice  of  his  expressions,  but  that  Garrick 's  features  in 
the  Retaliation  are  somewhat  exaggerated. 

Not  long  before  his  death,  he  had  formed  a  design  of  pub- 
lishing an  Encyclopedia,  or  a  Universal  Dictionary  of  Arts 
and  Sciences,  a  prospectus  of  which  he  printed  and  sent  to 
his'  friends,  many  of  whom  had  promised  to  furnish  him  with 
articles  on  different  subjects;  and  amongst  the  rest  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds,  Dr.  Johnson,  and  Mr.  Garrick.  His  expectations 
from  any  new-conceived  projects  were  generally  very  sanguine ; 
but  from  so  extensive  a  plan  his  hopes  of  gain  had  lifted  up 
his  thoughts  to  an  extraordinary  height. 

The  booksellers,  notwithstanding  they  had  a  very  good 
opinion  of  his  abilities,  yet  were  startled  at  the  bulk,  import- 
ance, and  expense  of  so  great  an  undertaking,  the  fate  of 
which  was  to  depend  upon  the  industry  of  a  man  with  whose 
indolence  of  temper  and  method  of  procrastination  they  had 
long  been  acquainted.  The  coldness  with  which  they  met  his 
proposal  was  lamented  by  the  Doctor  to  the  hour  of  his  death, 
which  seems  to  have  been  accelerated  by  a  neglect  of  his 
health,  occasioned  by  continual  vexation  of  mind,  arising  from 
his  involved  circumstances.  Death,  I  really  believe,  was  wel- 
come to  a  man  of  his  great  sensibility. 

The  chief  materials  which  compose  Goldsmith's  character 
are  before  the  reader;  but,  as  I  have  with  great  freedom  ex- 
posed his  faults,  I  should  not  have  dwelt  so  minutely  upon 


ANECDOTES    OF    GOLDSMITH. 

/ 

them,  if  I  had  not  been  conscious,  that,  upon  a  just  balance 
of  his  good  and  bad  qualities,  the  former  would  far  outweigh 
the  latter. 

Goldsmith  was  so  sincere  a  man  that  he  could  not  conceal 
what  was  uppermost  in  his  mind.  So  far  from  desiring  to 
appear  in  the  eye  of  the  world  to  the  best  advantage,  he  took 
more  pains  to  be  esteemed  worse  than  he  was,  than  others  do 
to  appear  better  than  they  are. 

His  envy  was  so  childish,  and  so  absurd,  that  it  was  easily 
pardoned,  for  everybody  laughed  at  it;  and  no  man  was  ever 
very  mischievous  whose  errors  excited  mirth:  he  never  formed 
any  scheme,  or  joined  in  any  combination,  to  hurt  any  man 
living. 

His  inviting  persons  to  condemn  Mr.  Home's  tragedy,  at 
first  sight  wears  an  ill  face ;  but  this  was  a  transient  thought 
of  a  giddy  man,  who,  upon  the  least  check,  would  have  im- 
mediately renounced  it,  and  as  heartily  joined  with  a  party 
to  support  the  piece  he  had  before  devoted  "to  destruction.  It 
cannot  be  controverted  that  he  was  but  a  bad  economist,  nor 
in  the  least  acquainted  with  that  punctuality  which  regular 
people  exact.  He  was  more  generous  than  just;  like  honest 
Charles,  in  the  School  for  Scandal,  he  could  not,  for  the  soul 
of  him,  make  justice  keep  pace  with  generosity.  His  disposi- 
tion of  mind  was  tender  and  compassionate ;  no  unhappy  person 
ever  sued  to  him  for  relief  without  obtaining  it,  if  he  had  any 
thing  to  give,  and,  rather  than  not  relieve  the  distressed,  he 
would  borrow.  The  poor  woman  with  whom  he  had  lodged 
during  his  obscurity  several  years  in  Green  Arbour  Court,  by 
his  death  lost  an  excellent  friend ;  for  the  Doctor  often  sup- 
plied her  with  food  from  his  table,  and  visited  her  frequently 
with  the  sole  purpose  to  be  kind  to  her.  He  had  his  dislike, 
as  most  men  have,  to  particular  people,  but  unmixed  with 
rancour.  He,  least  of  all  mankind,  approved  Baretti's  con- 
versation ;  he  considered  him  as  an  insolent,  overbearing 
foreigner;  as  Baretti,  in  his  turn,  thought  him  an  unpolished 
man,  and  an  absurd  companion  :  but  when  this  unhappy 
Italian  was  charged  with  murder,  and  afterwards  sent  by  Sir 
John  Fielding  to  Newgate,  Goldsmith  opened  his  purse,  and 


ANECDOTES    OF    GOLDSMITH.  Ixxiij 

would  have  given  him  every  shilling  it  contained;  he,  at  the 
same  time,  insisted  upon  going  in  .  the  coach  with  him  to  the 
place  of  his  confinement. 


BOSWELL'S  LIFE  OF  JOHNSON. 

DR.  GOLDSMITH  is  one  of  the  first  men  we  now  have  as  an 
author,  and  he  is  a  very  worthy  man  too.  He  has  been  loose 
in  his  principles,  but  he  is  coming  right. 

As  Dr.  Oliver  Goldsmith  will  frequently  appear  in  this 
narrative,  I  shall  endeavour  to  make  my  readers  in  some 
degree  acquainted  with  his  singular  character.  He  was  a 
native  of  Ireland,  and  a  contemporary  with  Mr.  Burke,  at 
Trinity  College,  Dublin,  but  did  not  then  give  much  promise 
of  future  celebrity.  He,  however,  observed  to  Mr.  Malone, 
that '  though  he  made  no  great  figure  in  mathematics,  which 
was  a  study  in  much  repute  there,  he  could  turn  an  ode  of 
Horace  into  English  better  than  any  of  them.'  He  afterwards 
studied  physic  at  Edinburgh,  and  upon  the  Continent;  and,  I 
have  been  informed,  was  enabled  to  pursue  his  travels  on  foot, 
partly  by  demanding  at  the  university  to  enter  the  lists  as  a 
disputant,  by  which,  according  to  the  custom  of  many  of  them, 
he  was  entitled  to  the  premium  of  a  crown,  when  luckily  for 
him  his  challenge  was  not  accepted;  so  that,  as  I  once  ob- 
served to  Dr.  Johnson,  he  disputed  his  passage  through  Europe. 
He  then  came  to  England,  and  was  successively  in  the  capa- 
cities of  an  usher  to  an  academy,  a  corrector  of  the  press,  a 
reviewer,  and  a  writer  for  a  newspaper.  He  had  sagacity 
enough  to  cultivate  assiduously  the  acquaintance  of  Johnson, 
and  his  faculties  were  gradually  enlarged  by  the  contemplation 
of  such  a  model.  To  me  and  many  others  it  appeared  that  he 
studiously  copied  the  manner  of  Johnson,  only  indeed  upon  a 
smaller  scale. 


ANECDOTES    OF    GOLDSMITH. 

At  this  time  I  think  he  published  nothing  with  his  name, 
though  it  was  pretty  generally  known  that  one  Dr.  Goldsmith 
was  the  author  of  '  An  Inquiry  into  the  Present  State  of  Polite 
Learning  in  Europe,'  and  of '  The  Citizen  of  the  World,'  a  series 
of  letters  supposed  to  be  written  from  London  by  a  Chinese. 
No  man  had  the  art  of  displaying  with  more  advantage  as  a 
writer  whatever  literary  acquisitions  he  made.  '  Nihil  quod 
tetigit  non  ornavit.'  His  mind  resembled  a  fertile,  but  thin 
soil.  There  was  a  quick,  but  not  a  strong  vegetation,  of  what- 
ever chanced  to  be  thrown  upon  it.  No  deep  root  could  be 
struck.  The  oak  of  the  forest  did  not  grow  there;  but  the 
elegant  shrubbery  and  the  fragrant  parterre  appeared  in  gay 
succession.  It  has  been  generally  circulated  and  believed  that 
he  was  a  mere  fool  in  conversation;  but,  in  truth,  this  has  been 
greatly  exaggerated.  He  had,  no  doubt,  a  more  than  common 
share  of  that  hurry  of  ideas  which  we  often  find  in  his  coun- 
trymen, and  which  sometimes  produces  a  laughable  confusion 
in  expressing  them.  He  was  very  much  what  the  French  call 
tin  ilourdi,  and,  from  vanity  and  an  eager  desire  of  being 
conspicuous  wherever  he  was,  he  frequently  talked  carelessly 
without  knowledge  of  the  subject,  or  even  without  thought. 
His  person  was  short,  his  countenance  coarse  and  vulgar,  his 
deportment  that  of  a  scholar  awkwardly  affecting  the  easy 
gentleman.  Those  who  were  in  any  way  distinguished,  excited 
envy  in  him  to  so  ridiculous  an  excess,  that  the  instances  of  it 
are  hardly  credible.  When  accompanying  two  beautiful  young 
ladies  with  their  mother  on  a  tour  in  France,  he  was  seriously 
angry  that  more  attention  was  paid  to  them  than  to  him;  and 
once  at  the  exhibition  of  the  Fantoccini  in  London,  when  those 
who  sat  next  him  observed  with  what  dexterity  a  puppet  was 
made  to  toss  a  pike,  he  could  not  bear  that  it  should  have  such 
praise,  and  exclaimed  with  some  warmth,  'Pshaw!  I  can  do 
it  better  myself.' 

He,  I  am  afraid,  had  no  settled  system  of  any  sort,  so  that 
his  conduct  must  not  be  strictly  scrutinized ;  but  his  affections 
were  social  and  generous,  and  when  he  had  money  he  gave  it 
away  very  liberally. 

His  desire  of  imaginary  consequence  predominated  over  hia 


ANECDOTES    OF    GOLDSMITH.  Ixxv 

attention  to  truth.  When  he  began  to  rise  into  notice,  he  said 
ke  had  a  brother  who  was  Dean  of  Durham ;  a  fiction  so  easily 
detected,  that  it  is  wonderful  how  he  should  have  been  so 
inconsiderate  as  to  hazard  it. 

He  boasted  to  me  at  this  time  of  the  power  of  his  pen  in 
commanding  money,  which  I  believe  was  true  in  a  certain 
degree,  though,  in  the  instance  he  gave,  he  was  by  no  means 
correct.  He  told  me  that  he  had  sold  a  novel  for  four  hun- 
dred pounds.  This  was  his  '  Vicar  of  Wakefield.'  But  John- 
son informed  me  that  he  had  made  the  bargain  for  Goldsmith, 
and  the  price  was  sixty  pounds.  '  And,  sir  (said  he),  a  suffi- 
cient price,  too,  when  it  was  sold  ;  for  then  the  fame  of 
Goldsmith  had  not  been  elevated,  as  it  afterwards  was,  by 
his  "Traveller;"  and  the  bookseller  had  such  faint  hopes 
of  profit  by  his  bargain,  that  he  kept  the  manuscript  by  him 
a  long  time,  arid  did  not  publish  it  till  after  the  "  Traveller  " 
had  appeared.  Then,  to  be  sure,  it  was  accidentally  worth 
more  money.' 

During  all  the  time  in  which  Dr.  Johnson  was  employed  in 
relating  to  the  circle  at  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds's  the  particulars 
of  what  passed  between  the  king  and  him,  Dr.  Goldsmith 
remained  unmoved  upon  a  sofa  at  some  distance,  affecting  not 
to  join  in  the  least  in  the  eager  curiosity  of  the  company. 
He  assigned  as  a  reason  for  his  gloom  and  seeming  inatten- 
tion, that  he  apprehended  Johnson  had  relinquished  his  pur- 
pose of  furnishing  him  with  a  Prologue  to  his  play,  with  the 
hopes  of  which  he  had  been  flattered  ;  but  it  was  strongly 
suspected  that  he  was  fretting  with  chagrin  and  envy  at  the 
singular  honour  Dr.  Johnson  had  lately  enjoyed.  At  length, 
the  frankness  and  simplicity  of  his  natural  character  pre- 
vailed. He  sprung  from  the  sofa,  advanced  to  Johnson,  and, 
in  a  kind  of  flutter  from  imagining  himself  in  the  situation 
•which  he  had  just  been  hearing  described,  exclaimed,  '  Well, 
you  acquitted  yourself  in  this  conversation  better  than  I 
should  have  done ;  for  I  should  have  bowed  and  stammered 
through  the  whole  of  it.' 


ANECDOTES    OF    GOLDSMITH. 

To  obviate  all  the  reflections  which  have  gone  round  the 
world  to  Johnson's  prejudice,  by  applying  to  him  the  epithet 
of  a  bear,  let  me  impress  upon  my  readers  a  just  and  happy 
saying  of  my  friend  Goldsmith,  who  knew  him  well:  'John- 
eon,  to  be  sure,  has  a  roughness  in  his  manner;  but  no  man 
alive  has  a  more  tender  heart.  He  has  nothing  of  the  bear 
but  his  skin.' 

Goldsmith,  to  divert  the  tedious  minutes,  strutted  about, 
bragging  of  his  dress,  and  I  believe  was  seriously  vain  of  it; 
for  his  mind  was  wonderfully  prone  to  such  impressions. 
<  Come,  come  (said  Garrick),  talk  no  more  of  that.  You  are, 
perhaps,  the  worst  —  eh,  —  eh  ! '  Goldsmith  was  eagerly 
attempting  to  interrupt  him,  when  Gartick  went  on,  laughing 
ironically,  « Nay,  you  will  always  look  like  a  gentleman ;  but 
I  am  talking  of  being  well  or  ill  dressed.'  «  Well,  let  me  tell 
you  (said  Goldsmith),  when  my  tailor  brought  home  my 
bloom-coloured  coat,  he  said,  "  Sir,  I  have  a  favour  to  beg 
of  you,  —  When  anybody  asks  who  made  your  clothes,  be 
pleased  to  mention  John  Filby,  at  the  Harrow,  in  Water 
Lane." '  Johnson  :  '  Why,  sir,  that  was  because  he  knew  the 
strange  colour  would  attract  crowds  to  gaze  at  it,  and  thus 
they  might  hear  of  him,  and  see  how  well  he  could  make  a 
coat,  even  of  so  absurd  a  cotyur.' 

He  said, « Goldsmith's  Life  of  Parnell  is  poor;  not  that  it  is 
poorly  written,  but  that  he  had  poor  materials;  for  nobody 
can  write  the  life  of  a  man  but  those  who  have  eat  and  drunk 
and  lived  in  social  intercourse  with  him.' 

A  question  was  started,  how  far  people  who  disagree  in  a 
capital  point  can  live  in  friendship  together.  Johnson  said 
they  might.  Goldsmith  said  they  could  not,  as  they  had  not 
the  ill  em  velle  atque  idem  nolle,  the  same  likings  and  the  same 
aversions.  Johnson :  '  Why,  sir,  you  must  shun  the  subject 
as  to  which  you  disagree.  For  instance,  I  can  live  very  well 
with  Burke:  I  love  his  knowledge,  his  genius,  his  diffusion, 
and  affluence  of  conversation;  but  I  would  not  talk  to  him 


ANECDOTES    OF    GOLDSMITH. 

ot  the  Rockingham  party.'  Goldsmith:  'But,  sir,  when 
people  live  together  who  have  something  as  to  which  they 
disagree,  and  which  they  want  to  shun,  they  will  be  in  the 
situation  mentioned  in  the  story  of  Bluebeard:  "  You  may 
look  into  all  the  chambers  but  one."  But  we  should  have 
the  greatest  inclination  to  look  into  that  chamber,  to  talk 
of  that  subject.'  Johnson  (with  a  loud  voice):  'Sir,  I  am 
not  saying  that  you  could  live  in  friendship  with  a  man  from 
whom  you  differ  as  to  some  point;  I  am  only  saying  that  / 
could  do  it.  You  put  me  in  mind  of  Sappho  in  Ovid.' 

Goldsmith  told  us  that  he  wste  now  busy  in  writing  a  natu- 
ral history,  and,  that  he  might  have  full  leisure  for  it,  he  had 
taken  lodgings  at  a  farmer's  house,  near  to  the  sixth  mile- 
stone on  the  Edgeware  Road,  and  had  carried  down  his  books 
in  two  returned  postchaises^  He  said  he  believed  the  far- 
mer's family  thought  him  an  odd  character,  similar  to  that  in 
which  the  Spectator  appeared  to  his  landlady  and  her  children: 
he  was  the  gentleman.  Mr.  Mickle,  the  translator  of  '  The 
Lusiad,'  and  I  went  to  visit  him  at  this  place  a  few  days  after- 
wards. He  was  not  at  home;  but,  having  a  curiosity  to  see 
his  apartment,  we  went  in,  and  found  curious  scraps  of  de- 
scriptions of  animals  scrawled  upon  the  wall  with  a  black- 
lead  pencil. 

The  subject  of  ghosts  being  introduced,  Johnson  repeated 
what  he  had  told  me  of  a  friend  of  his,  an  honest  man,  and 
a  man  of  sense,  having  asserted  to  him  that  he  had  seen  an 
apparition.  Goldsmith  told  us  he  was  assured  by  his  brother, 
the  Rev.  Mr.  Goldsmith,  that  he  also  had  seen  one. 

Of  our  friend  Goldsmith  he  said,  '  Sir,  he  is  so  much  afraid 
of  being  unnoticed,  that  he  often  talks  merely  lest  you  should 
forget  that  he  is  in  the  company.'  Boswell:  'Yes,  he  stands 
forward.'  Johnson:  'True,  sir;  but  if  a  man  is  to  stand  for- 
ward, he  should  wish  to  do  it  not  in  an  awkward  posture,  not 
in  rags,  not  so  as  that  he  shall  only  be  exposed  to  ridicule.' 
Boswell:  '  For  my  part,  I  like  very  well  to  hear  honest  Gold- 
smith talk  away  carelessly.'  Johnson:  '  Why  yes,  sir,  but  he 
should  not  like  to  hear  himself.' 


IxXViii        ANECDOTES    OF    GOLDSMITH. 

'The  misfortune  of  Gqldsmith  in  conversation  is  this  :  he 
goes  on  without  knowing  how  he  is  to  get  off.  His  genius  is 
great,  but  his  knowledge  is  small.  As  they  say  of  a  generous 
man,  it  is  a  pity  he  is  not  rich,  we  may  say  of  Goldsmith,  it  is 
a  pity  he  is  not  knowing.  He  would  not  keep  his  knowledge 
to  himself. 

I  told  him  that  Goldsmith  had  said  to  me  a  few  days  before, 
'  As  I  take  my  shoes  from  the  shoemaker,  and  my  coat  from 
the  tailor,  so  I  take  my  religion  from  the  priest.'  I  regretted 
this  loose  way  of  talking.  J»hnson:  «  Sir,  he  knows  nothing; 
he  has  made  up  his  mind  about  nothing.' 

He  owned  that  he  thought  Hawkesworth  was  one  of  his 
imitators,  but  he  did  not  think  Goldsmith  was.  Goldsmith, 
he  said,  had  great  merit.  Boswell:  '  But,  sir,  he  is  much 
indebted  to  you  for  his  getting  so  high  in  the  public  estima- 
tion.' Johnson :  '  Why,  sir,  he  has  perhaps  got  sooner  to  it  by 
his  intimacy  with  me.' 

Goldsmith,  though  his  vanity  often  excited  him  to  occasional 
competition,  had  a  very  high  regard  for  Johnson,  which  he  at 
this  time  expressed  in  the  strongest  manner  in  the  dedication 
of  his  comedy,  entitled,  '  She  Stoops  to  Conquer.' 

We  talked  of  the  king's  coming  to  see  Goldsmith's  new 
play.  '  I  wish  he  would,'  said  Goldsmith ;  adding,  however, 
with  an  affected  indifference,  *  Not  that  it  would  do  me  the 
least  good.'  Johnson:  '  Well  then,  sir,  let  us  say  it  would  do 
him  good  (laughing).  No,  sir,  this  affectation  will  not  pass; 
it  is  mighty  idle.  In  such  a  state  as  ours,  who  would  not 
wish  to  please  the  chief  magistrate  1 '  Goldsmith  I  do  wish 
to  please  him.  I  remember  a  line  in  Dryden,  — 

•'  And  every  poet  ia  the  monarch's  friend." 

It  ought  to  be  reversed.'     Johnson:  '  Nay,  there  are  finer 
lines  in  Dryden  on  this  subject:  — 


ANECDOTES    OF    GOLDSMITH. 

"  For  colleges  on  bounteous  kings  depend, 
And  never  rebel  was  to  arts  a  friend." ' 

General  Paoli  observed,  that  successful  rebels  might.  Mar- 
tinelli:  'Happy  rebellions.'  Goldsmith:  'We  have  no  such 
phrase.'  General  Paoli:  'But  have  you  not  the  thing  1' 
Goldsmith :  '  Yes  :  all  our  happy  revolutions.  They  have 
hurt  our  constitution,  and  will  hurt  it,  till  we  mend  it  by 
another  happy  revolution.'  I  never  before  discovered  that 
my  friend  Goldsmith  had  so  much  of  the  old  prejudice  in 
him. 

General  Paoli,  talking  of  Goldsmith's  new  play,  said,  « II  a 
fait  un  compliment  tres-gracieux  a  une  certaine  grande  dame;  ' 
meaning  a  duchess  of  the  first  rank. 

I  expressed  a  doubt  whether  Goldsmith  intended  it,  in  order 
that  I  might  hear  the  truth  from  himself.  It,  perhaps,  was 
not  quite  fair  to  endeavour  to  bring  him  to  a  confession,  as  he 
might  not  wish  to  avow  positively  his  taking  part  against  the 
court.  He  smiled  and  hesitated.  The  General  at  once  re- 
lieved him,  by  this  beautiful  image:  'Monsieur  Goldsmith  est 
comme  la  mer,  qui  jette  des  perles  et  beaucoup  d'autres  belles 
choses,  sans  s'en  appercevoir.'  Goldsmith:  •Tre's  bien  dit,  et 
toe's  elegamment.' 

He  said,  '  Goldsmith  should  not  be  for  ever  attempting  to 
shine  in  conversation:  he  has  not  temper  for  it,  he  is  so  much 
mortified  when  he  fails.  Sir,  a  game  of  jokes  is  composed 
partly  of  skill,  partly  of  chance,  as  a  man  may  be  beat  at 
times  by  one  who  has  not  the  tenth  part  of  his  wit.  Now 
Goldsmith's  putting  himself  against  another,  is  like  a  man 
laying  a  hundred  to  one  who  cannot  spare  the  hundred.  It  is 
not  worth  a  man's  while.  A  man  should  not  lay  a  hundred 
to  one,  unless  he  can  easily  spare  it,  though  he  has  a  hundred 
chances  for  him:  he  can  get  but  a  guinea,  and  he  may  lose 
a  hundred,  Goldsmith  is  in  this  state.  When  he  contends, 
if  he  gets  the  better,  it  is  a  very  little  addition  to  a  man  of  his 
literary  reputation :  if  he  does  not  get  the  better,  he  is  mise- 
rably vexed.' 


1XXX  ANECDOTES    OP    GOLDSMITH. 

Goldsmith,  however,  was  often  very  fortunate  in  his  witty 
contests,  even  when  he  entered  the  lists  with  Johnson  him- 
self. Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  was  in  company  with  them  one 
day,  when  Goldsmith  said  that  he  thought  he  could  write  a 
good  fable,  mentioned  the  simplicity  which  that  kind  of  com- 
position requires,  and  observed  that  in  most  fables  the  animals 
introduced  seldom  talk  in  character.  '  For  instance  (said 
he),  the  fable  of  the  little  fishes,  who  saw  birds  fly  over  their 
heads,  and,  envying  them,  petitioned  Jupiter  to  be  changed 
into  birds.  The  skill  (continued  he)  consists  in  making  them 
talk  like  little  fishes.'  While  he  indulged  himself  in  this 
fanciful  reverie,  he  observed  Johnson  shaking  his  sides,  and 
laughing.  Upon  which  he  smartly  proceeded,  '  Why,  Dr. 
Johnson,  this  is  not  so  easy  as  you  seem  to  think;  for  if 
you  were  to  make  little  fishes  talk,  they  would  talk  like 
whales.' 

During  this  argument,  Goldsmith  sat  in  restless  agitation, 
from  a  wish  to  get  in  and  shine.  Finding  himself  excluded, 
he  had  taken  his  hat  to  go  away,  but  remained  for  some  time 
with  it  in  his  hand,  like  a  gamester,  who,  at  the  close  of  a 
long  night,  lingers  for  a  little  while,  to  see  if  he  can  have 
a  favourable  opening  to  finish  with  success.  Once  when  he 
was  beginning  to  speak,  he  found  himself  overpowered  by  the 
loud  voice  of  Johnson,  who  was  at  the  opposite  end  of  the 
table,  and  did  not  perceive  Goldsmith's  attempt.  Thus  dis- 
appointed of  his  wish  to  obtain  the  attention  of  the  company, 
Goldsmith  in  a  passion  threw  down  his  hat,  looking  angrily  at 
Johnson,  and  exclaiming  in  a  bitter  tone,  « Take  it.'  When 
Toplady  was  going  to  speak,  Johnson  uttered  some  sound, 
which  led  Goldsmith  to  think  that  he  was  beginning  again, 
and  taking  the  words  from  Toplady.  Upon  which  he  seized 
this  opportunity  of  venting  his  own  envy  and  spleen,  under 
the  pretext  of  supporting  another  person :  '  Sir,'  said  he  to 
Johnson,  <  the  gentleman  has  heard  you  patiently  for  an 
hour;  pray  allow  us  now  to  hear  him.'  Johnson  (sternly): 
'  Sir,  I  was  not  interrupting  the  gentleman;  I  was  only  giving 
him  a  signal  of  my  attention.  Sir,  you  are  impertinent.' 


ANECDOTES    OF   GOLDSMITH.  Ixxxi 

Goldsmith  made  no  reply,  but  continued  in  the  company  for 
some  time. 

He  and  Mr.  Langton  and  I  went  together  to  the  club, 
where  we  found  Mr.  Burke,  Mr.  Garrick,  and  some  other 
members,  and  amongst  them  our  friend  Goldsmith,  who  sat 
silently  brooding  over  Johnson's  reprimand  to  him  after 
dinner.  Johnson  perceived  this,  and  said  aside  to  some  of 
us,  'I'll  make  Goldsmith  forgive  me;  '  and  then  called  to 
him  in  a  loud  voice, '  Dr.  Goldsmith,  something  passed  to- 
day where  you  and  I  dined:  I  ask  your  pardon.'  Goldsmith 
answered  placidly,  'It  must  be  much  from  you,  sir,  that  I 
take  ill.'  And  so  at  once  the  difference  was  over,  and  they 
were  on  as  easy  terms  as  ever,  and  Goldsmith  rattled  away  as 
usual. 

In  our  way  to  the  club  to-night,  when  I  regretted  that 
Goldsmith  would,  upon  every  occasion,  endeavour  to  shine,  by 
which  he  often  exposed  himself,  Mr.  Langton  observed  that 
he  was  not  like  Addison,  who  was  content  with  the  fame  of 
his  writings,  and  did  not  aim  also  at  excellency  in  conversa- 
tion, for  which  he  found  himself  unfit;  and  that  he  said  to  a 
lady,  who  complained  of  his  having  talked  little  in  company, 
'Madam,  I  have  but  ninepence  in  ready  money,  but  I  can 
draw  for  a  thousand  pounds.'  I  observed  that  Goldsmith  had 
a  great  deal  of  gold  in  his  cabinet,  but,  not  content  with  that, 
was  always  taking  out  his  purse.  Johnson:  '  Yes,  sir,  and 
that  so  often  an  empty  purse.' 

Goldsmith's  incessant  desire  of  being  conspicuous  in  com- 
pany was  the  occasion  of  his  sometimes  appearing  to  such 
disadvantage  as  one  should  hardly  have  supposed  possible  in  a 
man  of  his  genius. 

When  his  literary  reputation  had  risen  deservedly  high,  and 
his  society  was  much  courted,  he  became  very  jealous  of  the 
extraordinary  attention  which  was  everywhere  paid  to  John- 
son. One  evening,  in  a  circle  of  wits,  he  found  fault  with  me 
for  talking  of  Johnson  as  entitled  to  the  honour  of  unques- 
tionable superiority.  « Sir,'  said  he, '  you  are  for  making  a 
monarchy  of  what  should  be  a  republic.' 


Ixxxii         ANECDOTES    OF    GOLDSMITH. 

He  was  still  more  mortified,  when,  talking  in  a  company 
with  fluent  vivacity,  and,  as  he  flattered  himself,  to  the 
admiration  of  all  who  were  present,  a  German,  who  sat  next 
him,  and  perceived  Johnson  rolling  himself  as  if  about  to 
speak,  suddenly  stopped  him,  saying,  « Stay,  stay,  Doctor 
Johnson  is  going  to  say  something.'  This  was,  no  doubt, 
very  provoking,  especially  to  one  so  irritable  as  Goldsmith, 
who  frequently  mentioned  it  with  strong  expressions  of  indig- 
nation. 

It  may  also  be  observed,  that  Goldsmith  was  sometimes 
content  to  be  treated  with  an  easy  familiarity,  but,  upon 
occasions,  would  be  consequential  and  important.  An  in- 
stance of  this  occurred  in  a  small  particular.  Johnson  had 
a  way  of  contracting  the  names  of  his  friends  ;  as  Bcau- 
clerc,  Beau  ;  Boswell,  Bozzy  ;  Langton,  Lanky;  Murphy, 
Mur  ;  Sheridan,  Sherry.  I  remember  one  day,  when  Tom 
Davies  was  telling  that  Dr.  Johnson  said,  « We  are  all  in 
labour  for  a  name  to  Goldy's  play,'  Goldsmith  seemed  dis- 
pleased that  such  a  liberty  should  be  taken  with  his  name, 
and  said,  '  I  have  often  desired  him  not  to  call  me  Goldy.* 

Chambers,  you  find,  is  gone  far,  and  poor  Goldsmith  is 
gone  much  farther.  He  died  of  a  fever,  exasperated,  as  I 
believe,  by  the  fear  of  distress.  lie  had  raised  money  and 
squandered  it  by  every  artifice  of  acquisition,  and  folly  of 
expense.  But  let  not  his  frailties  bo  remembered;  ho  was  a 
very  great  man. 

'Goldsmith,'  he  said,  'referred  every  thing  to  vanity:  his 
virtues,  and  his  vices  too,  were  from  that  motive.  He  was  not 
a  social  man.  He  never  exchanged  mind  with  you.' 

He  said  '  Goldsmith  was  a  plant  that  flowered  late.  There 
appeared  nothing  remarkable  about  him  when  he  was  young; 
though,  when  he  had  got  high  in  fame,  one  of  his  friends 
begun  to  recollect  something  of  his  being  distinguished  at 
college.  Goldsmith,  in  the  same  manner,  recollected  more 
of  that  friend's  early  years,  as  he  grew  a  greater  man.' 


ANECDOTES    OF    GOLDSMITH.        Ixxxiii 

Goldsmith  being  mentioned,  Johnson  observed  that  it  was 
long  before  his  merit  came  to  be  acknowledged.  That  he 
once  complained  to  him,  in  ludicrous  terms  of  distress, '  AVhen- 
ever  I  write  any  thing,  the  public  make  a  point  to  know 
nothing  about  it;'  but  that  his  '  Traveller  '  brought  him  into 
high  reputation.  Langton:  'There  is  not  one  bad  line  in  that 
poem;  not  one  of  Dryden's  careless  verses.'  Sir  Joshua:  '  I 
was  glad  to  hear  Charles  Fox  say  it  was  one  of  the  finest 
poems  in  the  English  language.'  Langton:  '  Why  were  you 
glad?  You  surely  had  no  doubt  of  this  before.'  Johnson: 
«  No;  the  merit  of  "  The  Traveller  "  is  so  well  established,  that 
Mr.  Fox's  praise  cannot  augment  it,  nor  his  censure  diminish 
it.'  Sir  Joshua:  'But  bis  friends  may  suspect  they  had  too 
great  a  partiality  for  him.'  Johnson:  '  Nay,  sir,  the  par- 
tiality of  his  friends  was  always  against  him.  It  was  with 
difficulty  we  could  give  him  a.  hearing.  Goldsmith  had  no 
settled  notions  upon  any  subject;  so  he  talked  always  at 
random.  It  seemed  to  be  his  intention  to  blurt  out  whatever 
was  in  his  mind,  and  see  what  would  become  of  it.  He  was 
angry,  too,  when  catched  in  an  absurdity  ;  but  it  did  not 
prevent  him  from  falling  into  another  the  next  minute.  I 
remember  Chamier,  after  talking  with  him  for  some  time, 
said,  "  Well,  I  do  believe  he  wrote  this  poem  himself;  and, 
let  me  tell  you,  that  is  believing  a  great  deal."  Chamier 
once  asked  him,  what  he  meant  by  "  slow,"  —  the  last  word 
in  the  first  line  of  "  The  Traveller," — 

"  Remote,  unfriended,  melancholy,  slow." 

Did  he  mean  tardiness  of  locomotion'?  Goldsmith,  who  would 
say  something  without  consideration,  answered,  "  Yes."  I  was 
sitting  by,  and  said,  "No,  sir;  you  do  not  mean  tardiness 
of  locomotion  ;  you  mean  that  sluggishness  of  mind  which 
comes  upon  a  man  in  solitude."  Chamier  believed  then  that 
I  had  written  the  line,  as  much  as  if  he  had  seen  me  write  it. 
Goldsmith,  however,  was  a  man,  who,  whatever  he  wrote,  did 
it  better  than  any  other  man  could  do.  He  deserved  a  place 
in  Westminster  Abbey,  and  every  year  he  lived  would  have 
deserved  it  better.  He  had,  indeed,  been  at  no  pains  to  fill 


IxXXlV         ANECDOTES    OF    GOLDSMITH. 

his  mind  with  knowledge.  He  transplanted  it  from  one  place 
to  another,  and  it  did  not  settle  in  his  mind ;  so  he  could  not 
tell  what  was  in  his  own  books.' 

Talking  of  Goldsmith,  Johnson  said  he  was  very  envious. 
I  defended  him,  by  observing  that  he  owned  it  frankly  upon 
all  occasions.  Johnson:  'Sir,  you  are  enforcing  the  charge. 
He  had  so  much  envy  that  he  could  not  conceal  it.  He  was 
BO  full  of  it  that  he  overflowed.  He  talked  of  it,  to  be  sure, 
often  enough.' 

Goldsmith,  in  his  diverting  simplicity,  complained  one  day, 
in  a  mixed  company,  of  Lord  Camden.  '  I  met  him,'  said  he, 
•at  Lord  Clare's  house  in  the  country,  and  he  took  no  more 
notice  of  me  than  if  I  had  been  an  ordinary  man.'  The  com- 
pany having  laughed  heartily,  Johnson  stood  forth  in  defence 
of  his  friend:  'Nay,  gentlemen,'  said  he,  «  Dr.  Goldsmith  is 
in  the  right.  A  nobleman  ought  to  have  made  up  to  such  a 
man  as  Goldsmith ;  and  I  think  it  is  much  against  Lord  Cam- 
den  that  he  neglected  him.' 

Of  Dr.  Goldsmith  he  said, « No  man  was  more  foolish  when 
he  had  not  a  pen  in  his  hand,  or  more  wise  when  he  had.' 

He  said  Goldsmith's  blundering  speech  to  Lord  Shelburne, 
which  has  been  so  often  mentioned,  and  which  he  really  did 
make  to  him,  was  only  a  blunder  in  emphasis: —  'I  wonder 
they  should  call  your  lordship  Malagrida,  for  Malagrida  was 
a  very  good  man,  —  meant,  I  wonder  they  should  use  Ma- 
lagrida as  a  term  of  reproach.' 

« Returning  home  one  day  from  dining  at  the  chaplain's 
table,  he  told  me  that  Dr.  Goldsmith  had  given  a  very  comical 
and  unnecessarily  exact  recital  there  of  his  own  feelings  when 
his  play  was  hissed;  telling  the  company  how  he  went  indeed 
to  the  Literary  Club  at  night,  and  chatted  gaily  among  his 
friends,  as  if  nothing  had  happened  amiss;  — that,  to  impress 
them  still  more  forcibly  with  an  idea  of  his  magnanimity,  he 


ANECDOTES    OF    GOLDSMITH.         Ixxxv 

even  sung  his  favourite  song  about  an  old  woman  tossed  in  a 
blanket  seventeen  times  as  high  as  the  moon;  'but  all  this 
while  I  was  suffering  horrid  tortures,'  said  he,  'and  verily 
believe  that  if  I  had  put  a  bit  into  my  mouth,  it  would  have 
strangled  me  on  the  spot,  I  was  so  excessively  ill:  but  I  made 
more  noise  than  usual  to  cover  all  that,  and  so  they  never 
perceived  my  not  eating,  nor  I  believe  at  all  imagined  to 
themselves  the  anguish  of  my  heart.  But  when  all  were  gone 
except  Johnson  here,  I  burst  out  a  crying,  and  even  swore  that 
I  would  never  write  again.'  'All  which,  Doctor,'  said  Dr. 
Johnson,  amazed  at  his  odd  frankness,  '  I  thought  had  been  a 
secret  between  you  and  me,  and  I  am  sure  I  would  not  have 
said  any  thing  about  it  for  the  world.  Now  see,'  repeated  he, 
when  he  told  the  story,  '  what  a  figure  a  man  makes  who  thus 
unaccountably  chooses  to  be  the  frigid  narrator  of  his  own 
disgrace.  //  volto  sciolto,  ed  i  pensieri  stretti,  was  a  proverb 
made  on  purpose  for  such  mortals,  to  keep  people,  if  possible, 
from  being  thus  the  heralds  of  their  own  shame;  for  what 
compassion  can  they  gain  by  such  silly  narratives'!  No  man 
should  be  expected  to  sympathize  with  the  sorrows  of  vanity. 
If  then  you  are  mortified  by  any  ill  usage,  whether  real  or 
supposed,  keep  at  least  the  account  of  such  mortifications  to 
yourself,  and  forbear  to  proclaim  how  meanly  you  are  thought 
of  by  others,  unless  you  desire  to  be  meanly  thought  of  by 
all.' 

'  Poor  Goldsmith  was  to  him  indeed  like  the  earthen  pot  to 
the  iron  one  in  Fontaine's  Fables:  it  had  been  better  for  him, 
perhaps,  that  they  had  changed  companions  oftener,  yet  no 
experience  of  his  antagonist's  strength  hindered  him  from 
continuing  the  contest.  He  used  to  remind  me  always  of  that 
verse  in  Berni,  — 

'  H  pover  uomo  che  non  sen'era  accorto, 
Andava  combattendo  —  ed  era  morto.' 

Dr.  Johnson  made  him  a  comical  answer  one  day,  when 
seeming  to  repine  at  the  success  of  Beattie's  Essay  on  Truth. 
'  Here's  such  a  stir,'  said  he,  'about  a  fellow  that  has  written 
one  book,  and  I  have  written  many.'  '  Ah,  Doctor,'  said  his 


ANECDOTES    OP    GOLDSMITH. 

friend,  c  there  go  two-and-forty  sixpences,  you  know,  to  one 
guinea.' 

Here  was  exemplified  what  Goldsmith  said  of  him,  with  the 
aid  of  a  very  witty  image  from  one  of  Gibber's  comedies: 
«  There  is  no  arguing  with  Johnson ;  for,  if  his  pistol  misses  fire, 
he  knocks  you  down  with  the  butt-end  of  it.' 

Of  Goldsmith's  Traveller  he  used  to  speak  in  terms  of  the 
highest  commendation.  A  lady,  I  remember,  who  had  the 
pleasure  of  hearing  Dr.  Johnson  read  it  from  the  beginning  to 
the  end  on  its  first  coming  out,  to  testify  her  admiration  of  it, 
exclaimed,  'I  never  more  shall  think  Dr.  Goldsmith  ugly.' 
In  having  thought  so,  however,  she  was  by  no  means  singular, 
an  instance  of  which  I  am  rather  inclined  to  mention,  because 
it  involves  a  remarkable  one  of  Dr.  Johnson's  ready  wit;  for 
this  lady,  one  evening  being  in  a  large  party,  was  called  upon 
after  supper  for  her  toast,  and  seeming  embarrassed,  she  was 
desired  to  give  the  ugliest  man  she  knew,  and  she  immediately 
named  Dr.  Goldsmith,  on  which  a  lady  on  the  other  side  of 
the  table  rose  up  and  reached  across  to  shake  hands  with  her, 
it  being  the  first  time  they  had  met;  on  which  Dr.  Johnson 
said, '  Thus  the  ancients,  on  the  commencement  of  their  friend- 
ships, used  to  sacrifice  a  beast  betwixt  them.' 

Sir  Joshua,  I  have  often  thought,  never  gave  a  more  striking 
proof  of  his  excellence  in  portrait-painting,  than  in  giving 
dignity  to  Dr.  Goldsmith's  countenance,  and  yet  preserving  a 
strong  likeness.  But  he  drew  after  his  mind,  or  rather  his 
genius,  if  I  may  be  allowed  to  make  that  distinction,  assimi- 
lating the  one  with  his  conversation,  the  other  with  his  works. 
Dr.  Goldsmith's  cast  of  countenance,  and  indeed  his  whole 
figure  from  head  to  foot,  impressed  every  one  at  first  sight 
with  an  idea  of  bis  being  a  low  mechanic,  particularly,  I 
believe,  a  journeyman  tailor.  A  little  concurring  instance  of 
this  I  well  remember.  One  day  at  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds's,  in 
company  with  some  gentlemen  and  ladies,  he  was  relating 
with  great  indignation  an  insult  he  had  just  received  from 
some  gentleman  he  had  accidentally  met  (I  think  at  a  coffee- 


ANECDOTES    OF    GOLDSMITH. 

house).  'The  fellow,'  lie  said,  'took  me  for  a  tailor;  '  on 
which  all  the  party  either  laughed  aloud,  or  showed  they  sup- 
pressed a  laugh. 

Dr.  Johnson  seemed  to  have  much  more  kindness  for  Gold- 
smith than  Goldsmith  had  for  him.  He  always  appeared  to 
be  overawed  by  Johnson,  particularly  when  in  company  with 
people  of  any  consequence,  always  as  if  impressed  with  some 
fear  of  disgrace;  and,  indeed,  well  he  might.  I  have  been 
witness  to  many  mortifications  he  has  suffered  in  Dr.  John- 
son's company :  one  day  in  particular,  at  Sir  Joshua's  table,  a 
gentleman,  to  whom  he  was  talking  his  best,  stopped  him  in 
the  midst  of  his  discourse,  with  'Hush!  hush!  Dr.  Johnson  is 
going  to  say  something.' 

At  another  time,  a  gentleman  who  was  sitting  between  Dr. 
Johnson  and  Dr.  Goldsmith,  and  with  whom  he  had  been  dis- 
puting, remarked  to  another,  loud  enough  for  Goldsmith  to 
hear  him,  '  That  he  had  a  fine  time  of  it,  between  Ursa  major 
and  Ursa  minor.' 


MISS  HAWKINS'S  MEMOIRS. 

WHEN  Goldsmith  expressed  an  inclination  to  visit  Aleppo, 
for  the  purpose  of  importing  some  of  the  mechanical  inven- 
tions in  use  there,  Dr.  Johnson  said,  '  Goldsmith  will  go, 
and  he  will  bring  back  a  frame  for  grinding  knives,  which  he 
will  think  a  convenience  peculiar  to  Aleppo.'  After  he  had 
published  his  '  Animated  Nature,  Johnson  said,  'You  are  not 
to  infer  from  this  compilation  Goldsmith's  knowledge  on  the 
subject;  if  he  knows  that  a  cow  has  horns,  it  is  as  much  as  he 
does  know.' 

On  this  it  is  apposite  to  remark  the  exalted  ideas  which  we 
entertain  in  early  life  of  the  intellectual  acquisition  of  wri- 
ters. We  fancy  that  what  they  tell  must  be  written  from 
the  dictation  of  their  own  memory.  When  we  have  more 
experience,  we  find  that  there  is  often  as  much  work  for  the 


ANECDOTES    OF    GOLDSMITH. 

feet  as  for  the  fingers,  in  the  committing  a  few  pages  to 
paper;  and  that  the  claim  to  admiration  is  founded  rather-  in 
knowing  where  to  seek  what  we  want,  than  in  possessing  it. 
Enviable  indeed  are  the  few  who  carry  their  libraries  in  their 
heads. 

Of  the  two  following,  I  had  the  former  from  Mr.  Langton; 
and  the  latter  my  father  had  from  Mr.  Cadell. 

Goldsmith  happened  once  to  stop  at  an  inn  on  the  road, 
in  a  parlour  of  which  was  a  very  good  portrait,  which  he 
coveted,  believing  it  a  Vandyke:  he  therefore  called  in  the 
mistress  of  the  house,  asked  her  if  she  set  any  value  on  that 
old-fashioned  picture;  and,  finding  that  she  was  wholly  a 
stranger  to  its  worth,  he  told  her  it  bore  a  very  great  resem- 
blance to  his  aunt  Salisbury,  and  that,  if  she  would  sell  it 
cheap,  he  would  bay  it.  A  bargain  was  struck,  a  price  infi- 
nitely below  the  value  was  paid.  Goldsmith  took  the  picture 
away  with  him,  and  had  the  satisfaction  to  find,  that  by  this 
scandalous  trick  he  had  indeed  procured  a  genuine  and  very 
saleable  painting  of  Vandyke's. 

Soon  after  Goldsmith  had  contracted  with  the  booksellers 
for  his  History  of  England,  for  which  he  was  to  be  paid  five 
hundred  guineas,  he  went  to  Cadell,  and  told  him  he  was  in 
the  utmost  distress  for  money,  and  in  imminent  danger  of 
being  arrested  by  his  butcher  or  baker.  Cadell  immediately 
called  a  meeting  of  the  proprietors,  and  prevailed  on  them 
to  advance  him  the  whole,  or  a  considerable  part  of  the  sum, 
which,  by  the  original  agreement,  he  was  not  entitled  to 
till  »  twelvemonth  after  the  publication  of  his  work.  On 
a  day  which  Mr.  Cadell  had  named  for  giving  this  needy 
author  an  answer,  Goldsmith  came  and  received  the  money, 
under  pretence  of  instantly  satisfying  his  creditors.  Cadell, 
to  discover  the  truth  of  his  pretext,  watched  whither  he 
went,  and,  after  following  him  to  Hyde  Park  Corner,  saw 
him  get  into  a  postchaise,  in  which  a  woman  of  the  town 
was  waiting  for  him,  and  with  whom,  it  afterwards  appeared, 
he  went  to  Bath  to  dissipate  what  he  had  thus  fraudulently 
obtained. 

Have  I  told  of  my  father's  being  invited  by  Goldsmith  to 


ANECDOTES    OF    GOLDSMITH.        Ixxxix 

look  at  a  book  in  which  was  some  information  that  might  be 
useful  to  him,  and,  instead  of  lending  it  to  him,  tearing  out 
the  leaves'! 


COLMAN'S  RANDOM  RECORDS. 

OLIVER  GOLDSMITH,  several  years  before  my  luckless  presenta- 
tion to  Johnson,  proved  how  '  Doctors  differ.'  I  was  only  five 
years  old  when  Goldsmith  took  me  on  his  knee,  while  he  was 
drinking  coffee,  one  evening,  with  my  father,  and  began  to 
play  with  me ;  which  amiable  act  I  returned  with  the  ingra- 
titude of  a  peevish  brat,  by  giving  him  a  very  smart  slap  on 
the  face :  it  must  have  been  a  tingler,  for  it  left  the  marks 
of  my  little  spiteful  paw  upon  his  cheek.  This  infantile 
outrage  was  followed  by  summary  justice,  and  I  was  locked 
up  by  my  indignant  father  in  an  adjoining  room,  to  undergo 
solitary  imprisonment  in  the  dark.  Here  I  began  to  howl 
and  scream  most  abominably;  which  was  no  bad  step  towards 
liberation,  since  those  who  were  not  inclined  to  pity  me 
might  be  likely  to  set  me  free,  for  the  purpose  of  abating  a 
nuisance. 

At  length  a  generous  friend  appeared  to  extricate  me  from 
jeopardy,  and  that  generous  friend  was  no  other  than  the  man 
I  had  so  wantonly  molested  by  assault  and  battery,  —  it  was 
the  tender-hearted  Doctor  himself,  with  a  lighted  caudle  in 
his  hand,  and  a  smile  upon  his  countenance,  which  was  still 
partially  red  from  the  effects  of  my  petulance.  I  sulked  and 
sobbed,  and  he  fondled  and  soothed,  till  I  began  to  brighten. 
Goldsmith,  who  in  regard  to  children  was  like  the  Village 
Preacher  he  has-  so  beautifully  described,  —  for 

1  Their  welfare  pleased  him,  and  their  cares  distress'd,' — 

seized  the  propitious  moment  of  returning  good  humour;  so 
he  put  down  the  candle,  and  began  to  conjure.  He  placed 
three  hats,  which  happened  to  be  in  the  room,  upon  the  carpet, 


XC  ANECDOTES    OF    GOLDSMITH. 

and  a  shilling  under  each :  the  shillings,  he  told  me,  were 
England,  France,  and  Spain.  « Hey,  presto,  cookolorum  ! ' 
cried  the  Doctor,  and,  lo!  on  uncovering  the  shillings  which 
had  been  dispersed,  each  beneath  a  separate  hat,  they  were 
all  found  congregated  under  one.  I  was  no  politician  at  five 
years  old,  and  therefore  might  not  have  wondered  at  the 
sudden  revolution  which  brought  England,  France,  and  Spain 
all  under  one  crown ;  but,  as  I  was  also  no  conjurer,  it  amazed 
me  beyond  measure.  Astonishment  might  have  amounted  to 
awe  for  one  who  appeared  to  ino  gifted  with  the  power  of 
performing  miracles,  if  the  good-nature  of  the  man  had  not 
obviated  my  dread  of  the  magician;  but,  from  that  time, 
whenever  the  Doctor  came  to  visit  my  father, 

'  I  pluck 'd  his  gown,  to  share  the  good  man's  smile ; ' 

a  game  at  romps  constantly  ensued,  and  we  were  always  cor- 
dial friends  and  merry  playfellows.  Our  unequal  companion- 
ship varied  somewhat  in  point  of  sports  as  I  grew  older,  but 
it  did  not  last  long;  my  senior  playmate  died,  alas!  in  his 
forty-fifth  year,  some  months  after  I  had  attained  my  eleventh. 
His  death,  it  has  been  thought,  was  hastened  by  'mental 
inquietude.'  If  this  supposition  be  trjio,  never  did  the  tur- 
moils of  life  subdue  a  mind  more  warm  with  sympathy  for 
the  misfortunes  of  our  fellow-creatures.  But  his  character  is 
familiar  to  every  one  who  reads:  in  all  the  numerous  accounts 
of  his  virtues  and  his  foibles,  his  genius  and  absurdities,  his 
knowledge  of  nature  and  his  ignorance  of  the  world,  his  « com- 
passion for  another's  woe '  was  always  predominant;  and  my 
trivial  story  of  his  humouring  a  froward  child  weighs  but  as  a 
feather  in  the  recorded  scale  of  his  benevolence. 


ANECDOTES    OF    GOLDSMITH.  xci 


CUMBERLAND'S  MEMOIRS. 

AT  this  time  I  did  not  know  Oliver  Goldsmith  even  by  person. 
I  think  our  first  meeting  chanced  to  be  at  the  British  Coflee- 
house.  When  we  came  together,  we  very  speedily  coalesced ; 
and  I  believe  he  forgave  me  for  all  the  little  fame  I  had  got 
by  the  success  of  my  West  Indian,  which  had  put  him  to  some 
trouble,  for  it  was  not  in  hb  nature  to  be  unkind;  and  I  had 
soon  an  opportunity  of  convincing  him  how  incapable  I  was 
of  harbouring  resentment,  and  how  zealously  I  took  my  share 
in  what  concerned  his  interest  and  reputation.  That  he  was 
fantastically  and  whimsically  vain,  all  the  world  knows;  but 
there  was  no  settled  and  inherent  malice  in  his  heart.  He 
was  tenacious,  to  a  ridiculous  extreme,  of  certain  pretensions 
that  did  not,  and  by  nature  could  not,  belong  to  him,  and,  at 
the  same  time,  inexcusably  careless  of  the  fame  which  he  had 
powers  to  command.  His  table-talk  was  (Garrick  aptly  com- 
pared it)  like  a  parrot,  whilst  he  wrote  like  Apollo;  he  had 
gleams  of  eloquence,  and  at  times  a  majesty  of  thought;  but, 
in  general,  his  tongue  and  his  pen  had  two  very  different 
styles  of  talking.  What  foibles  he  had  he  took  no  pains  to 
conceal;  the  good  qualities  of  his  heart  were  too  frequently 
obscured  by  the  carelessness  of  his  conduct  and  the  "frivolity 
of  his  manners.  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  was  very  good  to  him, 
and  would  have  drilled  him  into  better  trim  and  order  for 
society,  if  he  would  have  been  amenable;  for  Reynolds  was  a 
perfect  gentleman,  had  good  sense,  great  propriety,  with  all 
the  social  attributes  and  all  the  graces  of  hospitality,  equal 
to  any  man.  He  knew  well  how  to  appreciate  men  of  talents, 
and  how  near  akin  the  Muse  of  Poetry  was  to  that  art  of  which 
he  was  so  eminent  a  master.  From  Goldsmith  he  caught 
the  subject  of  his  famous  Ugolino  ;  what  aids  he  got  from 
others,  if  he  got  any,  were  worthily  bestowed  and  happily 
applied. 

There  is  something  in  Goldsmith's  prose  that  to  my  ear  ia 
uncommonly  sweet  and  harmonious;  it  is  clear,  simple,  easy 


XCli  ANECDOTES    OF    GOLDSMITH. 

to  be  understood;  we  never  want  to  read  his  period  twice 
over,  except  for  the  pleasure  it  bestows  ;  obscurity  never 
calls  us  back  to  a  repetition  of  it.  That  he  was  a  poet  there 
is  no  doubt;  but  the  paucity  of  his  verses  does  not  allow  us 
to  rank  him  in  that  high  station  where  his  genius  might  have 
carried  him.  There  must  be  bulk,  variety,  and  grandeur  of 
design,  to  constitute  a  first-rate  poet.  The  Deserted  Village, 
Traveller,  and  Hermit,  are  all  specimens,  beautiful  as  such; 
but  they  are  only  bird's  eggs  on  a  string,  and  eggs  of  small 
birds  too.  One  great  magnificent  whole  must  be  accomplished 
before  we  can  pronounce  upon  the  maker  to  be  the  6  Tro^^f. 
Pope  himself  never  earned  this  title  by  a  work  of  any  mag- 
nitude but  his  Homer;  and  that,  being  a  translation,  only 
constituted  him  an  accomplished  versifier.  Distress  drove 
Goldsmith  upon  undertakings  neither  congenial  with  his 
studies,  nor  worthy  of  his  talents.  I  remember  him,  when 
in  his  chamber  in  the  Temple,  he  showed  me  the  beginning 
of  his  '  Animated  Nature; '  it  was  with  a  sigh,  such  as  genius 
draws,  when  hard  necessity  diverts  it  from  its  bent  to  drudge 
for  bread,  and  talk~of  birds  and  beasts  and  creeping  things, 
which  Pidcock's  showmen  would  have  done  as  well.  Poor 
fellow!  he  hardly  knew  an  ass  from  a  mule,  nor  a  turkey 
from  a  goose,  but  when  he  saw  it  on  the  table.  But  pub- 
lishers hate  poetry,  and  Paternoster  Row  is  not  Parnassus. 
Even  the  mighty  Doctor  Hill,  who  was  not  a  very  delicate 
reader,  could  not  make  a  dinner  out  of  the  press,  till,  by  a 
happy  transformation  into  Hannah  Glass,  he  turned  himself 
into  a  cook,  and  sold  receipts  for  made  dishes  to  all  the 
savoury  readers  in  the  kingdom.  Then,  indeed,  the  press 
acknowledged  him  second  in  fame  only  to  John  Bunyan  ; 
his  pasty  kept  pace  in  sale  with  Nelson's  Feasts,  and  when  his 
own  name  was  fairly  written  out  of  credit,  he  wrote  himself 
into  immortality  under  an  alias.  Now,  though  necessity,  I 
should  rather  say  the  desire  of  finding  money  for  a  masque- 
rade, drove  Oliver  Goldsmith  upon  abridging  history  and 
turning  Buffon  into  English,  yet  I  much  doubt  if,  without  that 
spur,  he  would  ever  have  put  his  Pegasus  into  action;  no,  if 
he  had  been  rich,  the  world  would  have  been  poorer  than  it  is 


ANECDOTES    OF    GOLDSMITH.  XClil 

by  the  loss  of  all  the  treasures  of  his  genius  and  the  contribu- 
tions of  his  pen. 

Oliver  Goldsmith  began  at  this  time  to  write  for  the  stage; 
and  it  is  to  be  lamented  that  he  did  not  begin  at  an  earlier 
period  of  life  to  turn  his  genius  to  dramatic  compositions, 
and  much  more  to  be  lamented,  that,  after  he  had  begun, 
the  succeeding  period  of  his  life  was  so  soon  cut  off.  There 
ia  no  doubt  but  his  genius,  when  more  familiarized  to  the 
business,  would  have  inspired  him  to  accomplish  great  things. 
His  first  comedy  of  the  '  Good-natured  Man '  was  read  and 
applauded  in  its  manuscript  by  Edmund  Burke,  and  the  circle 
in  which  he  then  lived  and  moved.  Under  such  patronage  it 
came  with  those  testimonials  to  the  director  of  Covent  Garden 
Theatre,  as  could  not  fail  to  open  all  the  avenues  to  the  stage, 
and  bespeak  all  the  favour  and  attention  from  the  performers 
and  the  public,  that  the  applauding  voice  of  him,  whose  ap- 
plause was  fame  itself,  could  give  it.  This  comedy  has  enough 
to  justify  the  good  opinion  of  its  literary  patron,  and  secure 
its  author  against  any  loss  of  reputation ;  for  it  has  the  stamp 
of  a  man'  of  talents  upon  it,  though  its  popularity  with  the 
audience  did  not  quite  keep  pace  with  the  expectations  that 
were  grounded  on  the  fiat  it  had  antecedently  been  honoured 
with.  It  was  a  fir^t  effort,  however,  and  did  not  discourage 
its  ingenious  author  from  invoking  his  muse  a  second  time. 
It  was  now,  whilst  his  labours  were  in  perfection,  that  I  first 
met  him  at  the  British  Coffee-house,  as  I  have  already  related, 
somewhat  out  of  place.  He  dined  with  us  as  a  visitor,  intro- 
duced, as  I  think,  by  Sir  Joshua  Eeynolds;  and  we  held  a 
consultation  upon  the  naming  of  his  comedy,  which  some  of 
the  company  had  read,  and  which  he  detailed  to  the  rest  after 
his  manner  with  a  great  deal  of  good-humour.  Somebody 
suggested,  '  She  Stoops  to  Conquer,'  —  and  that  title  was 
agreed  upon.  When  I  perceived  an  embarrassment  in  his 
manner  towards  me,  which  I  could  readily  account  for,  I  lost 
no  time  to  put  him  at  his  ease,  and  I  flatter  myself  I  was  suc- 
cessful. As  my  heart  was  ever  warm  towards  my  contempo- 
raries, I  did  not  counterfeit,  but  really  felt  a  cordial  interest 


XC1V  ANECDOTES    OF   GOLDSMITH. 

in  his  behalf;  and  I  had  soon  the  pleasure  to  perceive  that  he 
credited  me  for  my  sincerity.  «  You  and  I,'  said  he, '  have 
Tery  different  motives  for  resorting  to  the  stage.  I  write  for 
money,  and  care  little  about  fame.'  I  was  touched  by  this 
melancholy  confession,  and  from  that  moment  busied  myself 
assiduously  amongst  all  my  connexions  in  his  cause.  The 
whole  company  pledged  themselves  to  the  support  of  the  inge- 
nious poet,  and  faithfully  kept  their  promise  to  him.  In  fact, 
he  needed  all  that  could  be  done  for  him;  as  Mr.  Colman,  then 
manager  of  Corent  Garden  Theatre,  protested  against  the 
comedy,  when  as  yet  he  had  not  struck  upon  a  name  for  it. 
Johnson  at  length  stood  forth  in  all  his  terrors  as  champion 
for  the  piece,  and  backed  by  us  his  client  and  retainers  de- 
manded a  fair  trial.  Colman  again  protested,  but,  with  that 
salvo  for  his  own  reputation,  liberally  lent  his  stage  to  one 
of  the  most  eccentric  productions  that  ever  found  its  way  to  it, 
and  '  She  Stoops  to  Conquer '  was  put  into  rehearsal.  We 
were  not  over-sanguine  of  success,  but  perfectly  determined  to 
struggle  hard  for  our  author;  we  accordingly  assembled  our 
strength  at  the  Shakespeare  Tavern  in  a  considerable  body  for 
an  early  dinner,  where  Samuel  Johnson  took  the  chair  at  the 
head  of  a  long  table,  and  was  the  life  and  soul  of  the  corps; 
the  Poet  took  post  silently  by  his  side  with  the  Burkes,  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds,  Fitiherbert,  Caleb  Wbitefoord,  and  a  pha- 
lanx of  North  British  predetermined  applauders,  under  the 
banner  of  Major  Neilly,  all  good  men  and  true.  Our  illus- 
trious president  was  in  unimitable  glee,  and  poor  Goldsmith 
that  day  took  all  his  raillery  as  patiently  and  complacently  as 
my  friend  Boswell  any  day,  or  every  day  of  his  life.  In  tho 
meantime  we  did  not  forget  our  duty;  and  though  we  had  a 
better  comedy  going,  in  which  Johnson  was  chief  actor,  we 
betook  ourselves  in  good  time  to  our  separate  and  allotted 
post*,  and  waited  the  awful  drawing  up  of  the  curtain.  A» 
our  stations  were  preconcerted,  so  were  our  signals  for  plaudits 
arranged  and  determined  upon,  in  a  manner  that  gave  every 
one  his  cue,  where  to  look  for  them,  and  how  to  follow  them 
up.  We  had  amongst  us  a  very  worthy  and  efficient  member, 
long  since  lost  to  bis  friends  and  the  world  at  large,  Adam 


ANECDOTES    OF   GOLDSMITH.  XCV 

Drummond,  of  amiable  memory,  who  was  gifted  by  nature 
with  the  most  sonorous,  and  at  the  same  time  the  most  conta- 
gious, laugh  that  ever  echoed  from  the  human  lungs.  The 
neighing  of  the  horse  of  the  son  of  Hystaspes  was  a  whisper 
to  it;  the  whole  thunder  of  the  theatre  could  not  drown  it. 
This  kind  and  ingenuous  friend  fairly  forewarned  us,  that  he 
knew  no  more  when  to  give  his  fire  than  the  cannon  did  that 
was  planted  on  a  battery.  He  desired  therefore  to  have  a  flap- 
per at  his  elbow,  and  I  had  the  honour  to  be  deputed  to  that 
office.  I  planted  him  in  an  upper  box,  pretty  nearly  over  the 
stage,  in  full  view  of  the  pit  and  galleries,  and  perfectly  well 
situated  to  give  the  echo  all  its  play  through  the  hollows  and 
recesses  of  the  theatre.  The  success  of  our  manoeuvres  was 
complete.  All  eyes  were  upon  Johnson,  who  sat  in  a  front 
row  of  a  side  box;  and,  when  he  laughed,  everybody  thought 
themselves  warranted  to  roar.  In  the  meantime  my  friend 
followed  signals  with  a  rattle  so  irresistibly  comic,  that,  when 
he  had  repeated  it  several  times,  the  attention  of  the  specta- 
tors was  so  engrossed  by  his  person  and  performances,  that  the 
progress  of  the  play  seemed  likely  to  become  a  secondary 
object,  and  I  found  it  prudent  to  insinuate  to  him  that  he 
might  halt  his  music  without  any  prejudice  to  the  author. 
But,  alas!  it  was  now  too  late  to  rein  him  in:  he  had  laughed 
upon  my  signal  where  he  had  found  no  joke,  and  now  un- 
luckily he  fancied  that  he  found  a  joke  in  almost  every  thing 
that  was  said ;  so  that  nothing  in  nature  could  be  more  mal- 
apropos than  some  of  his  bursts  every  now  and  then  were. 
These  were  dangerous  moments,  for  the  pit  began  to  take 
umbrage ;  but  we  carried  our  play  through,  and  triumphed, 
not  only  over  Colman's  judgment,  but  our  own. 

As  the  life  of  poor  Oliver  Goldsmith  was  now  fast  approach- 
ing tc  its  period,  I  conclude  my  account  of  him  with  gratitude 
for  the  epitaph  he  bestowed  on  me  in  his  poem  called  '  Re- 
taliation.' 

It  was  upon  a  proposal  started  by  Edmund  Burke,  that  a 
party  of  friends,  who  had  dined  together  at  Sir  Joshua  Rey- 
nolds's  and  my  house,  should  meet  at  the  St.  James's  Coffee- 
house; which  accordingly  took  place,  and  was  occasionally 


XCvi  ANECDOTES    OP   GOLDSMITH. 

repented  with  much  festivity  and  good  fellowship.  Dr.  Ber- 
nard, Dean  of  Derry,  a  very  amiable  and  old  friend  of  mine, 
Dr.  Douglas,  since-  Bishop  of  Salisbury,  Johnson,  David  Gar- 
rick,  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  Oliver  Goldsmith,  Edmund  and 
Richard  Burke,  Hickey,  with  two  or  three  others,  constituted 
our  party.  At  one  of  these  meetings,  an  idea  was  suggested 
of  extemporary  epitaphs  upon  the  parties  present;  pen  and 
ink  were  called  for,  and  Garrick  off-hand  wrote  an  epitaph 
with  a  good  deal  of  humour  upon  poor  Goldsmith,  who  was 
the  first  in  jest,  as  he  proved  to  be  in  reality,  that  we  com- 
mitted to  the  grave.  The  Dean  also  gave  him  an  epitaph,  and 
Sir  Joshua  illuminated  the  Dean's  verses  with  a  sketch  of  his 
bust  in  pen  and  ink  inimitably  caricatured.  Neither  Johnson 
nor  Burke  wrote  any  thing;  and  when  I  perceived  Oliver  was 
rather  sore,  and  seemed  to  watch  me  with  that  kind  of  atten- 
tion which  indicated  his  expectation  of  something  in  the  same 
kind  of  burlesque  with  theirs,  I  thought  it  time  to  press  the 
joke  no  further,  and  wrote  a  few  couplets  at  a  side-table,  which 
when  I  had  finished,  and  was  called  on  by  the  company  to 
exhibit,  Goldsmith  with  much  agitation  besought  me  to  spare 
him,  and  I  was  about  to  tear  them,  when  Johnson  wrested 
them  out  of  my  hand,  and  in  a  loud  voice  read  them  at  the 
table.  I  have  now  lost  all  recollection  of  them,  and  in  fact 
they  were  little  worth  remembering;  but  as  they  were  serious 
and  complimentary,  the  effect  they  had  upon  Goldsmith  was 
the  more  pleasing  for  being  so  entirely  unexpected.  The  con- 
eluding  line,  which  is  the  only  one  I  can  call  to  mind,  was,  — 

'  All  mourn  the  poet,  I  lament  the  man.' 

This  I  recollect,  because  he  repeated  it  several  times,  and 
seemed  much  gratified  by  it.  At  our  next  meeting  he  pro- 
duced his  epitaphs  as  they  stand  in  the  little  posthumous 
poem  above  mentioned,  and  this  was  the  last  time  he  ever 
enjoyed  the  company  of  his  friends. 

As  he  had  served  up  the  company  under  the  similitude  of 
various  sorts  of  meat,  I  had  in  the  meantime  figured  them 
under  that  of  liquor;  which  little  poem  I  rather  think  was 


ANECDOTES   OF   GOLDSMITH.  XOVil 

printed,  but  of  this  I  am  not  sure.  Goldsmith  sickened  and 
died,  and  we  had  one  concluding  meeting  at  my  house,  when 
it  was  decided  to  publish  his  Retaliation,  and  Johnson  at  the 
same  time  undertook  to  write  an  epitaph  for  our  lamented 
friend,  to  whom  we  proposed  to  erect  a  monument  by  subscrip- 
tion in  Westminster  Abbey.  This  epitaph  Johnson  executed ; 
but  in  the  criticism  that  was  attempted  against  it,  and  in  the 
Round-Robin  signed  at  Beauclerc's  house,  I  had  no  part.  I 
had  no  acquaintance  with  that  gentleman,  and  was  never  in 
his  house  in  my  life. 

Thus  died  Oliver  Goldsmith,  in  his  chamber  in  the  Temple, 
at  a  period  of  life  when  his  genius  was  yet  in  its  vigour,  and 
fortune  seemed  disposed  to  smile  upon  him.  I  have  heard  Dr. 
Johnson  relate  with  infinite  humour  the  circumstance  of  hia 
rescuing  him  from  a  ridiculous  dilemma  by  the  purchase-money 
of  his  Vicar  of  Wakefield,  which  he  sold  on  his  behalf  to 
Dodsley;  and,  as  I  think,  for  the  sum  of  ten  pounds  only.* 
He  had  run  up  a  debt  with  his  landlady  for  board  and  lodging 
of  some  few  pounds,  and  was  at  his  wits-end  how  to  wipe  off 
the  score  and  keep  a  roof  over  his  head,  except  by  closing  with 
a  very  staggering  proposal  on  her  part,  and  taking  his  cre- 
ditor to  wife,  whose  charms  were  very  far  from  alluring,  whilst 
her  demands  were  extremely  urgent.  In  this  crisis  of  his  fate, 
he  was  found  by  Johnson  in  the  act  of  meditating  on  the  me- 
lancholy alternative  before  him. 

He  showed  Johnson  his  manuscript  of  The  Vicar  of  "Wake- 
field,  but  seemed  to  be  without  any  plan,  or  even  hope,  of  rais- 
ing money  upon  the  disposal  of  it:  when  Johnson  cast  his  eye 
upon  it,  he  discovered  something  that  gave  him  hope,  and 
immediately  took  it  to  Dodsley,  who  paid  down  the  price 
above  mentioned  in  ready  money,  and  added  an  eventual  con- 
dition upon  its  future  sale.  Johnson  described  the  precautions 
li  e  took  in  concealing  the  amount  of  the  sum  he  had  in  hand, 
which  he  prudently  administered  to  him  by  a  guinea  at  a 
time.  In  the  event  he  paid  off  the  landlady's  score,  and 
redeemed  the  person  of  his  friend  from  her  embraces.  Gold- 
smith had  the  joy  of  finding  his  ingenious  work  succeed  beyond 

*  £40  to  Newbery ;  see  page  ciii 

9 


XCV111  ANECDOTES    OF    GOLDSMITH. 

his  hopes,  and  from  that  time  began  to  place  a  confidence  in 
the  resources  of  his  talents,  which  thenceforward  enabled  him 
to  keep  his  station  in  society,  and  cultivate  the  friendship  of 
many  eminent  persons,  who,  whilst  they  smiled  at  his  eccentri- 
cities, esteemed  him  for  his  genius  and  good  qualities. 


NORTHCOTE'S  CONVERSATIONS. 

GOLDSMITH  and  Eurke  had  often  violent  disputes  about  politics; 
the  one  being  a  staunch  Tory,  and  the  other  at  that  time  a 
Whig  and  outrageous  an ti- courtier.  One  day  he  came  into  the 
room  when  Goldsmith  was  there,  full  of  ire  and  abuse  against 
the  late  king,  and  went  on  in  such  a  torrent  of  the  most  un- 
qualified invective  that  Goldsmith  threatened  to  leave  the 
room.  The  other,  however,  persisted;  and  Goldsmith  went 
out,  unable  to  bear  it  any  longer.  So  much  for  Mr.  Burke'a 
pretended  consistency  and  uniform  loyalty!  When  Northcote 
first  came  to  Sir  Joshua,  he  wished  very  much  to  see  Gold- 
smith ;  and  one  day  Sir  Joshua,  on  introducing  him,  asked 
why  he  had  been  so  anxious  to  see  him.  ' Because,'  said 
Northcote,  'he  is  a  notable  man.'  This  expression,  'notable,3 
in  its  ordinary  sense,  was  so  contrary  to  Goldsmith's  character, 
that  they  both  burst  out  a  laughing  very  heartily.  Goldsmith 
was  two  thousand  pounds  in  debt  at  the  time  of  his  death, 
which  was  hastened  by  his  chagrin  and  distressed  circum- 
stances; and  when 'She  Stoops  to  Conquer 'was  performed, 
he  was  so  choked  all  dinner-time  that  he  could  not  swallow  a 
mouthful.  A  party  went  from  Sir  Joshua's  to  support  it.  The 
present  title  was  not  fixed  upon  till  that  morning.  Northcote 
went  with  Ralph,  Sir  Joshua's  man,  into  the  gallery  to  see 
how  it  went  off;  and,  after  the  second  act,  there  was  no  doubt 
of  its  success.  Northcote  says,  people  had  a  great  notion  of 
the  literary  parties  at  Sir  Joshua's. 

Mrs.  G.  bad  certainly  a  lock  of  Goldsmith's  hair,  for  she 
and  her  sister  (Miss  Horneck)  had  wished  to  have  some  re- 
membrance of  him  after  his  death;  and  though  the  coffin  was 


ANECDOTES    OP    GOLDSMITH.  XC1X 

nailed  up,  it  was  opened  again  at  their  request,  (such  was  the 
regard  Goldsmith  was  known  to  have  for  them!)  and  a  lock 
of  his  hair  was  cut  off,  which  Mrs.  G.  still  has.  Northcote 
said,  Goldsmith's  death  was  the  severest  blow  Sir  Joshua  ever 
received:  he  did  not  paint  at  all  that  day.  It  was  proposed  to 
make  a  grand  funeral  for  him;  but  Reynolds  objected  to  this, 
as  it  would  be  over  in  a  day,  and  said  it  would  be  better  to 
lay  by  the  money  to  erect  a  monument  to  him  in  Westminster 
Abbey ;  and  he  went  himself  and  chose  the  spot.  Goldsmith 
had  begun  another  novel  of  which  he  read  the  first  chapter  to 
the  Miss  Hornecks  a  little  before  his  death.  Northcote  asked 
what  I  thought  of  the  Vicar  of  Wakefield.  And  I  answered, 
« What  everybody  else  did.'  He  said  there  was  that  mixture 
of  the  ludicrous  and  the  pathetic  running  through  it,  which 
particularly  delighted  him :  it  gave  a  stronger  resemblance  to 
nature.  He  thought  this  justified  Shakespeare  in  mingling  up 
farce  and  tragedy  together;  life  itself  was  a  tragi-comedy. 
Instead  of  being  pure,  every  thing  was  chequered.  If  you 
went  to  an  execution,  you  would  perhaps  see  an  applewoman 
in  the  greatest  distress  because  her  stall  was  overturned,"  at 
which  you  could  not  help  smiling.  We  then  spoke  of  '  Reta- 
liation,' and  praised  the  character  of  Burke  in  particular  as  a 
masterpiece.  Nothing  that  he  had  ever  said  or  done  but  what 
was  foretold  in  it ;  nor  was  he  painted  as  the  principal  figure 
in  the  foreground  with  the  partiality  of  a  friend,  or  as  the 
great  man  of  the  day,  but  with  a  background  of  history,  show- 
ing both  what  he  was  and  what  he  might  have  been.  North- 
cote repeated  some  lines  from  the  '  Traveller,'  which  were 
distinguished  by  a  beautiful  transparency,  by  simplicity  and 
originality.  He  confirmed  Boswell's  account  of  Goldsmith,  as 
being  about  the  middle  height,  rather  clumsy,  and  tawdry  in 
his  dress. 

Human  nature  is  always  the  same.  It  was  so  with  Johnson 
and  Goldsmith.  They  would  allow  no  one  to  have  any  merit 
but  themselves.  The  very  attempt  was  a  piece  of  presump- 
tion, and  a  trespass  upon  their  privileged  rights.  I  remember 
a  poem  that  came  out,  and  that  was  sent  to  Sir  Joshua:  his 


C  ANECDOTES    OF    GOLDSMITH. 

servant  Ralph  had  instructions  to  bring  it  in  just  after  dinner. 
Goldsmith  presently  got  hold  of  it,  and  seemed  thrown  into  a 
rage  before  he  had  read  a  line  of  it.  He  then  said,  '  What 
wretched  stuff  is  here!  what  cursed  nonsense  that  is!'  and 
kept  all  the  while  marking  the  passages  with  his  thumb-nail, 
as  if  he  would  cut  them  in  pieces.  At  last,  Sir  Joshua,  who 
was  provoked,  interfered,  and  said,  '  Nay,  don't  spoil  my  book, 
however.' 


HAWKINS'S  MEMOIRS  OF  JOHNSON. 

GOLDSMITH  is  well  known  by  his  writings  to  have  been  a  man 
of  genius  and  of  very  fine  parts;  but  of  his  character  and 
general  deportment  it  is  the  hardest  task  any  one  can  under- 
take to  give  a  description.  I  will,  however,  attempt  it,  trust- 
ing to  be  excused  if,  in  the  spirit  of  a  faithful  historian,  I 
record  as  well  his  singularities  as  his  merits. 

There  are  certain  memoirs  of  him  extant,  from  which  we 
learn  that  his  inclination  co-operating  with  his  fortunes,  which 
were  but  scanty,  led  him  into  a  course  of  life  little  differing 
from  vagrancy,  that  deprived  him  of  the  oenefits  of  regular 
study;  it,  however,  gratified  his  humour,  stored  his  mind  with 
ideas  and  some  knowledge,  which,  when  he  became  settled,  he 
improved  by  various  reading;  yet  to  all  the  graces  of  urba- 
nity he  was  a  stranger.  With  the  greatest  pretensions  to 
polished  manners,  he  was  rude,  and,  when  he  most  meant  the 
contrary,  absurd.  He  affected  Johnson's  stylo  and  manner  of 
conversation,  and  when  he  had  uttered,  as  he  often  would,  a 
laboured  sentence,  so  tumid  as  to  be  scarcely  intelligible, 
would  ask  if  that  was  not  truly  Johnsonian;  yet  he  loved  not 
Johnson,  but  rather  envied  him  for  his  parts,  and  once  en- 
treated a  friend  to  desist. from  praising  him;  '  for  in  doing  so,' 
said  he,  '  you  harrow  up  my  very  soul.' 

He  had  some  wit,  but  no  humour,  and  never  told  a  story 
but  he  spoiled  it.  The  following  anecdotes  will  convey  some 
idea  of  the  stylo  and  manner  of  his  conversation. 


ANECDOTES  OF  GOLDSMITH.        Cl 

He  was  used  to  say  he  could  play  on  the  German  flute  as 
well  as  most  men,  at  other  times  as  well  as  any  man  living; 
and  in  his  poem  of  the  Traveller  has  hinted  at  this  attainment 
in  the  following  lines:  — 

'  To  kinder  skies,  where  gentler  manners  reign, 
I  turn ;  and  France  displays  her  bright  domain. 
Gay,  sprightly  land  of  mirth  and  social  ease, 
Pleas'd  with  thyself,  whom  all  the  world  can  please, 
How  often  hare  I  led  thy  sportive  choir, 
With  tuneless  pipe,  beside  the  murmuring  Loire! 
Where  shading  elms  along  the  margin  grew, 
And,  freshen'd  from  the  waves,  the  zephyrs  flew; 
And  haply,  though  my  harsh  touch,  faltering  still, 
But  mock'd  all  tune,  and  marr'd  the  dancer's  skill, 
Yet  would  the  village  praise  my  wondrous  power, 
And  dance  forgetful  of  the  noontide  hour.' 

But,  in  truth,  he  understood  not  the  character  in  which 
music  is  written,  and  played  on  that  instrument,  as  many  of 
the  vulgar  do,  merely  by  ear.  Roubiliac,  the  sculptor,  a  merry 
fellow,  once  heard  him  play,  and,  minding  to  put  a  trick  on 
him,  pretended  to  be  charmed  with  his  performance,  as  also 
that  himself  was  skilled  in  the  art,  and  entreated  him  to  re- 
peat the  air  that  he  might  write  it  down.  Goldsmith  readily 
consenting,  Roubiliac  called  for  paper,  and  scored  thereon  a 
few  five-lined  staves,  which  having  done,  Goldsmith  proceeded 
to  play  and  Roubiliac  to  write;  but  his  writing  was  only  such 
random  notes  on  the  lines  and  spaces  as  any  one  might  get 
down  who  had  ever  inspected  a  page  of  music.  When  they 
had  both  done,  Roubiliac  showed  the  paper  to  Goldsmith,  who, 
looking  it  over  with  seeming  great  attention,  said  it  was  very 
correct,  and  that,  if  he  had  not  seen  him  do  it,  he  never  could 
have  believed  his  friend  capable  of  writing  music  after  him. 

He  used  frequently  to  preface  a  story  thus:  I  will  tell  you 
a  story  of  myself,  which  some  people  laugh  at,  and  some  do 

DOt. 

At  the  breaking  up  of  an  evening  at  a  tavern,  he  entreated 
the  company  to  sit  down,  and  told  them  if  they  would  call  for 
another  bottle,  they  should  hear  one  of  his  ion  mots.  They 
agreed,  and  he  began  thus  :  I  was  once  told  that  Sheridan 


Cli  ANECDOTES    OF    GOLDSMITH. 

the  player,  in  order  to  improye  himself  in  stage  gestures, 
had  looking-glasses  to  the  number  of  ten  hung  about  his 
room,  and  that  he  practised  before  them ;  upon  which  I  said, 
'Then  there  were  ten  ugly  fellows  together.'  The  com- 
pany were  all  silent;  he  asked  why  they  did  not  laugh,  which 
they  not  doing,  he,  without  tasting  the  wine,  left  the  room  in 
anger.  In  a  large  company  he  once  said,  '  Yesterday  I  heard 
an  excellent  story,  and  I  would  relate  it  now  if  I  thought  any 
of  you  able  to  understand  it.'  The  company  laughed,  and  one 
of  them  said,  '  Doctor,  you  are  very  rude ; '  but  he  made  no 
apology.  lie  once  complained  to  a  friend  in  these  words: 
'  Mr.  Martinelli  is  a  rude  man :  I  said  in  hi*  hearing,  that 
there  were  no  good  writers  among  the  Italians,  and  he  said  to 
one  that  sat  near  him,  that  I  was  very  ignorant.' 

'  People,'  said  he,  '  are  greatly  mistaken  in  me.  A  notion 
goes  about,  that  when  I  am  silent  I  mean  to  be  impudent; 
but,  I  assure  you,  gentlemen,  my  silence  arises  from  bashful- 
ness.' 

Having  one  day  a  call  to  wait  on  the  late  duke,  then  earl 
of  Northumberland,  I  found"  Goldsmith  waiting  for  an  audi- 
ence in  an  outer  room.  I  asked  him  what  had  brought  him 
there:  he  told  me  an  invitation  from  his  lordship.  I  made 
my  business  as  short  as  I  could,  and,  as  a  reason,  mentioned 
that  Dr.  Goldsmith  was  waiting  without.  The  earl  asked  me 
if  I  was  acquainted  with  him :  I  told  him  I  was,  adding  what 
I  thought  likely  to  recommend  him.  I  retired,  and  stayed  in 
the  outer  room  to  take  him  home.  Upon  his  coming  out,  I 
asked  him  the  result  of  his  conversation.  '  His  lordship,' 
says  he, « told  me  he  had  read  my  poem,'  meaning  the  Tra- 
veller, 'and  was  much  delighted  with  it;  that  he  was  going 
lord-lieutenant  of  Ireland;  and  that,  hearing  that  I  was  a 
native  of  that  country,  he  should  be  glad  to  do  me  any  kind  - 
ness.'  And  what  did  you  answer,  asked  I,  to  this  gracious 
offer'!  '  Why,'  said  he, '  I  could  say  nothing  but  that  I  had  a 
brother  there,  a  clergyman,  that  stood  in  need  of  help;  as  for 
myself,  I  have  no  dependence  on  the  promises  of  great  men; 
I  look  to  the  booksellers  for  suppoft,  they  are  my  best  friends, 
and  I  am  not  inclined  to  forsake  them  for  others.' 


ANECDOTES    OF    GOLDSMITH.  Clil 

Thus  did  this  idiot,  in  the  affairs  of  the  world,  trifle  with  his 
fortunes,  and  put  back  the  hand  that  was  held  out  to  assist 
him.  Other  offers  of  a  like  kind  he  either  rejected  or  failed 
to  improve,  contenting  himself  with  the  patronage  of  one 
nobleman,  whose  mansion  "afforded  him  the  delights  of  a 
splendid  table,  and  a  retreat  for  a  few  days  from  the  metro- 
polis. 

While  I  was  writing  the  History  of  Music,  he,  at  the  club, 
communicated  to  me  some  curious  matter.  I  desired  he  would 
reduce  it  to  writing;  he  promised  me  he  would,  and  desired 
to  see  me  at  his  chambers:  I  called  on  him  there;  he  stepped 
into  a  closet,  and  tore  out  of  a  printed  book  six  leaves  that 
contained  what  he  had  mentioned  to  me.  As  he  wrote  for  the 
booksellers,  we,  at  the  club,  looked  on  him  as  a  mere  literary 
drudge,  equal  to  the  task  of  compiling  and  translating,  but 
little  capable  of  original,  and  still  less  of  poetical  composition: 
he  had,  nevertheless,  unknown  to  us,  written  and  addressed 
to  the  countess,  afterwards  duchess,  of  Northumberland,  one 
of  the  finest  poems  of  the  lyric  kind  that  our  language  has 
to  boast  of,  the  ballad,  ' Turn,  gentle  Hermit  of  the  Dale; '  * 
and  surprised  us  with  « The  Traveller,'  a  poem  that  contains 
some  particulars  of  his  own  history.  Johnson  was  supposed 
to  have  assisted  him  in  it;  but  he  contributed  to  the  perfection 
of  it  only  four  lines :  his  opinion  of  it  was,  that  it  was  the  best 
written  poem  since  the  time  of  Pope. 

Of  the  booksellers  whom  he  styled  his  friends,  Mr.  Newbery 
was  one  This  person  had  apartments  in  Canonbury-house, 
where  Goldsmith  often  lay  concealed  from  his  creditors.  Under 
a  pressing  necessity,  he  there  wrote  his  Vicar  of  Wakefield, 
and  for  it  received  of  Newbery  forty  pounds. 

Of  a  man  named  Griffin,  a  bookseller,  in  Catherine-street  in 
the  Strand,  he  had  borrowed,  by  two  and  three  guineas  at  a 
time,  money  to  the  amount  of  two  hundred  pounds:  to  dis- 
charge this  debt  he  wrote  '  The  Deserted  Village,'  but  was 

*  That  this  beautiful  poem  exists  we  owe  to  Dr.  Chapman,  of  Sud- 
bury.  Soon  after  he  wrote  it,  Goldsmith  showed  it  to  the  Doctor,  and 
was  by  him  hardly  dissuaded  from  throwing  it  hi  to  the  fire.  —  Haw- 
kins, 


CIV  ANECDOTES    OF    GOLDSMITH. 

two  years  about  it.  Soon  after  its  publication,  Griffin  declared 
that  it  had  discharged  the  whole  of  his  debt. 

His  poems  are  replete  with  fine  moral  sentiment,  and  be- 
speak a  great  dignity  of  mind ;  yet  he  had  no  sense  of  the 
shame,  nor  dread  of  the  evils,  of  poverty. 

In  the  latter  he  was  at  one  time  so  involved,  that,  for  the 
clamoars  of  a  woman  to  whom  he  was  indebted  for  lodging, 
and  for  bailiffs  that  waited  to  arrest  him,  he  was  equally  un- 
able, till  he  had  made  himself  drunk,  to  stay  within  doors,  or 
go  abroad  to  hawk  among  the  booksellers  a  piece  of  his  writing, 
the  title  whereof  my  author  does  not  remember.  In  this  dis- 
tress he  sent  for  Johnson,  who  immediately  went  to  one  of 
them,  and  brought  back  money  for  his  relief. 

In  his  dealings  with  the  booksellers,  he  is  said  to  have  acted 
very  dishonestly,  never  fulfilling  his  engagements.  In  one 
year  he  got  of  them,  and  by  his  plays,  the  sum  of  £1,800, 
which  he  dissipated  by  gaming  and  extravagance,  and  died 
poor,  in  1774. 

He  that  can  account  for  the  inconsistencies  of  character 
above  noted,  otherwise  than  by  showing  that  wit  and  wisdom 
are  seldom  found  to  meet  in  the  same  mind,  will  do  more  than 
any  of  Goldsmith's  friends  were  ever  able  to  do.  He  was  buried 
in  the  Temple  churchyard.  A  monument  was  erected  for  him 
in  the  Poet's  Corner,  in  Westminster  Abbey,  by  a  subscription 
of  his  friends,  and  is  placed  over  the  entrance  into  St.  Blase's 
Chapel.  The  inscription  thereon  was  written  by  Johnson. 
This  I  am  able  to  say  with  certainty,  for  he  showed  it  to  me  in 
manuscript. 


THE   TRAVELLER; 

OR, 

A.     PROSPECT     OF     SOCIETY. 
A  POEM. 


"  THE  Traveller;  or,  a  Prospect  of  Society,  inscribed  to  the 
Rev.  Mr.  Henry  Goldsmith,  by  Oliver  Goldsmith,  M.  B.," 
was  first  published  in  December,  1764,  price  Is.  6d.,  and  was 
the  earliest  production  to  which  Goldsmith  prefixed  his  name. 
It  went  through  nine  editions  in  Goldsmith's  lifetime,  and  is 
here  reprinted  from  the  ninth  edition,  4to,  1774,  compared 
with  the  first  edition,  4to,  1765,  and  with  the  "  sixth  edition, 
corrected,"  4to,  1770. 

This  poem  is  founded  on  Addison's  "  Letter  from  Italy  to 
the  Right  Honourable  Charles  Lord  Halifax,"  of  which  Gold- 
smith himself  says :  "  Few  poems  have  done  more  honour  to 
English  genius  than  this.  There  is  in  it  a  strain  of  political 
thinking,  that  was,  at  that  time,  [1701,]  new  in  our  poetry. 
Had  the  harmony  of  this  been  equal  to  that  of  Pope's  versifi- 
cation, it  would  be  incontestably  the  finest  poem  in  our  lan- 
guage ;  but  there  is  a  dryness  in  the  numbers  which  greatly 
lessens  the  pleasure  excited  both  by  the  parts  judgment  and 
imagination."  (Beauties  of  English  Poesy,  1767,  vol.  i. 
p.  111.) 

All  that  Goldsmith  would  appear  to  have  received  for  this 
poem,  was  twenty  guineas. — Newberry  MSS.,  Prior,  ii.  68. — 
CUNNINGHAM. 


DEDICATION. 


TO  THE  REV.  HENRY  GOLDSMITH. 

DEAR  SIR,  —  I  am  sensible  that  the  friendship 
between  us  can  acquire  no  new  force  from  the 
ceremonies  of  a  dedication ;  and  perhaps  it  de- 
mands an  excuse  thus  to  prefix  your  name  to  my 
attempts,  which  you  decline  giving  with  your  own. 
But  as  a  part  of  this  poem  was  formerly  written 
to  you  from  Switzerland,  the  whole  can  now,  with 
propriety,  be  only  inscribed  to  you.  It  will  also 
throw  a  light  upon  many  parts  of  it,  when  the 
reader  understands  that  it  is  addressed  to  a  man 
who,  despising  fame  and  fortune,  has  retired  early 
to  happiness  and  obscurity,  with  an  income  of 
forty  pounds  a  year. 

I  now  perceive,  my  dear  brother,  the  wisdom 
of  your  humble  choice.  You  have  entered  upon 
a  sacred  office,  where  the  harvest  is  great,  and 
the  labourers  are  but  few ;  while  you  have  left 
the  field  of  ambition,  where  the  labourers  are 
many,  and  the  harvest  not  worth  carrying  away. 


4  DEDICATION. 

But  of  all  kinds  of  ambition,  —  what  from  the 
refinement  of  the  times,  from  different  systems  of 
criticism,  and  from  the  divisions  of  party,  —  that 
which  pursues  poetical  fame  is  the  wildest. 

Poetry  makes  a  principal  amusement  among 
unpolished  nations  ;  but  in  a  country  verging  to 
the  extremes  of  refinement,  painting  and  music 
come  in  for  a  share.  As  these  offer  the  feeble 
mind  a  less  laborious  entertainment,  they  at  first 
rival  poetry,  and  at  length  supplant  her :  they 
engross  all  that  favour  once  shown  to  her,  and, 
though  but  younger  sisters,  seize  upon  the  elder's 
birthright 

Yet,  however  this  art  may  be  neglected  by  the 
powerful,  it  is  still  in  greater  danger  from  the 
mistaken  efforts  of  the  learned  to  improve  it. 
What  criticisms  have  we  not  heard  of  late  in 
favour  of  blank  verse  and  Pindaric  odes,  cho- 
ruses, anapests  and  iambics,  alliterative  care  and 
happy  negligence !  Every  absurdity  has  now  a 
champion  to  defend  it ;  and  as  he  is  generally 
much  in  the  wrong,  so  he  has  always  much  to 
say  ;  for  error  is  ever  talkative. 

But  there  is  an  enemy  to  this  art  still  more 
dangerous — I  mean  party.  Party  entirely  distorts 
the  judgment,  and  destroys  the  taste.  When  the 
mind  is  once  infected  with  this  disease,  it  can 
only  find  pleasure  in  what  contributes  to  increase 
the  distemper.  Like  the  tiger,  that  seldom  de- 
sists from  pursuing  man  after  having  once  preyed 


DEDICATION.  0 

upon  human  flesh,  the  reader,  who  has  once  gra- 
tified his  appetite  with  calumny,  makes,  ever  after, 
the  most  agreeable  feast  upon  murdered  reputa- 
tion. Such  readers  generally  admire  some  half- 
witted thing,  who  wants  to  be  thought  a  bold  man,1 
having  lost  the  character  of  a  wise  -one.  Him 
they  dignify  with  the  name  of  poet :  his  tawdry 
lampoons  are  called  satires ;  his  turbulence  is  said 
to  be  force,  and  his  frenzy  fire. 

What  reception  a  poem  may  find,  which  has 
neither  abuse,  party,  nor  blank  verse  to  support 
it,  I  cannot  tell,  nor  am  I  solicitous  to  know. 
My  aims  are  right.  Without  espousing  the  cause 
of  any  party,  I  have  attempted  to  moderate  the 
rage  of  all.  I  have  endeavoured  to  show,  that 
there  may  be  equal  happiness  in  states  that  are 
differently  governed  from  our  own ;  that  every 
state  has  a  particular  principle  of  happiness,  and 
that  this  principle  in  each  may  be  carried  to  a 
mischievous  excess.  There  are  few  can  judge, 
better  than  yourself,  how  far  these  positions  are 
illustrated  in  this  poem.  I  am, 

Dear  Sir, 

; 

Your  most  affectionate  Brother, 

OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 

1  Churchill,  at  whom  all  this  is  aimed,  died  4th  November, 
1764,  while  the  first  edition  of"  The  Traveller  "  was  passing 
through  the  press. — P.  C. 


THE  TRAVELLER. 


1  REMOTE,  unfriended,  melancholy,  slow, 
Or  by  the  lazy  Scheld,  or  wandering  Po ; 
Or  onward,  where  the  rude  Carinthian2  boor 
Against  the  houseless  stranger  shuts  the  door ; 
Or  where  Campania's  plain  forsaken  lies, 
A  weary  waste  expanding  to  the  skies ; 
Where'er  I  roam,  whatever  realms  to  see. 
My  heart  untravell'd  fondly  turns  to  thee ; 
Still  to  my  brother  turns,  with  ceaseless  pain, 
And  drags  at  each  remove  a  lengthening  chain. 

1  Remote]  '  Solus,  inops,  exspes,  leto  pcenseque  relictus.1 

Ovid.  Metam.  xiv.  217. 
Exsul,  inops  erres,  alienaque  limina  lustres,'  &c. 

Ovid.  Ibis.  113. 
And  compare  Petrarch,  Son.  xxii : 

'  Solo  e  pensoso,  i  piu  deserti  campi 
Vo  misurando  a  passi  tardi  e  lent!.' 

2  Carinthia  was  visited  by  Goldsmith  in  1755,  and  still 
(1853)  retains  its  character  for  inhospitality. — P.  C. 

8  and  drags]  '  When  I  am  with  Florimel,  it  (my  heart)  is 
still  your  prisoner,  it  only  draws  a  longer  chain  after  it.' 

Cipher's  Com.  Lover,  p.  249. 
1 1  should  of  life's  weary  load  complain, 
And,  drown'd  in  tears,  drag  on  the  encumbering  chain.' 
JBlackmore's  Arthur,  p.  212. 


8  THE    POEMS 

Eternal  blessings  crown  my  earliest  friend, 
And  round  his  dwelling  guardian  saints  attend; 
Blest  be  that  spot,  where  cheerful  guests  retire 
To  pause  from  toil,  and  trim  their  evening  fire ; 
Blest  that  abode,  where  want  and  pain  repair, 
And  every  stranger  finds  a  ready  chair ; 
Blest  be  those  feasts  with  simple  plenty  crown'd, 
Where  all  the  ruddy  family  around 
Laugh  at  the  jests  or  pranks  that  never  fail, 
Or  sigh  with  pity  at  some  mournful  tale ; 
Or  press  the  bashful  stranger  to  his  food, 
And  learn  the  luxury  of  doing  good. 

But  me,  not  destin'd  such  delights  to  share, 
My  prime  of  life  in  wandering  spent  and  care ; 
Impell'd,  with  steps  unceasing,  to  pursue 
Some  fleeting  good,  that  mocks  me  with  the  view ; 
That,  like  the  circle  bounding  earth'  and  skies, 
Allures  from  far,  yet,  as  I  follow,  flies ; 
My  fortune  leads  to  traverse  realms  alone, 
And  find  no  spot  of  all  the  world  my  own. 

Ev'n  now,  where  Alpine  solitudes  ascend, 
I  sit  me  down  a  pensive  hour  to  spend ; 
And,  plac'd  on  high  above  the  storm's  career, 
Look  downward  where  an  hundred  realms  appear 

•  The  farther  I  travel,  I  feel  the  pain  of  separation  with 
stronger  force.  Those  ties  that  bind  me  to  my  native  country 
and  you  are  still  unbroken ;  by  every  remove  I  only  drag  a 
greater  length  of  chain.' —  Citizen  of  the  World,  vol.  i.  lott.  3. 


OP    GOLDSMITH.  9 

Lakes,  forests,  cities,  plains,  extending  wide, 
The  pomp  of  kings,  the  shepherd's  humbler  pride. 

When  thus  creation's  charms  around  combine, 
Amidst  the  store,  should  thankless  pride  repine  ? 
Say,  should  the  philosophic  mind  disdain 
That  good  which  makes  each  humbler  bosom  vain  ? 
Let  school-taught  pride  dissemble  all  it  can, 
These  little  things  are  great  to  little  man ; 
And  wiser  he,  whose  sympathetic  mind 
Exults  in  all  the  good  of  all  mankind,   [crown'd ; 
Ye  glittering  towns,  with  wealth  and  splendour 
Ye  fields,  where  summer  spreads  profusion  round ; 
Ye  lakes,  whose  vessels  catch  the  busy  gale ; 
Ye  bending  swains,  that  dress  the  flowery  vale ; 
For  me  your  tributary  stores  combine : 
Creation's  heir,  the  world  —  the  world  is  mine ! 

As  some  lone  miser,  visiting  his  store, 
Bends  at  hisytreasure,  counts,  recounts  it  o'er ; 
Hoards  after  hoards  his  rising  raptures  fill, 
Yet  still  he  sighs,  for  hoards  are  wanting  still : 
Thus  to  my  breast  alternate  passions  rise,  [plies: 
Pleas'd  with  each  good  that  Heaven  to  man  sup- 
Yet  oft  a  sigh  prevails,  and  sorrows  fall, 
To  see  the  hoard  of  human  bliss  so  small ; 
And  oft  I  wish,  amidst  the  scene,  to  find 
Some  spot  to  real  happiness  consign'd, 
Where  my  worn  soul,  each  wandering  hope  at  rest, 
May  gather  bliss  to  see  my  fellows  blest. 


10  THE   POEMS 

But  where  to  find  that  happiest  spot  below, 
Who  can  direct,  when  all  pretend  to  know  ? 
The  shuddering  tenant  of  the  frigid  zone 
Boldly  proclaims  that  happiest  spot  his  own ; 
Extols  the  treasures  of  his  stormy  seas, 
And  his  long  nights  of  revelry  and  ease. 
The  naked  negro,  panting  at  the  line, 
Boasts  of  his  golden  sands  and  palmy  wine, 
Basks  in  the  glare,  or  stems  the  tepid  wave, 
And  thanks  his  gods  for  all  the  good  they  gave. 
Such  is  the  patriot's  boast,  where'er  we  roam, 
His  first,  best  country  ever  is  at  home. 
And  yet,  perhaps,  if  countries  we  compare, 
And  estimate  the  blessings  which  they  share, 
Though  patriots  flatter,  still  shall  wisdom  find 
An  equal  portion  dealt  to  all  mankind ; 
As  different  good,  by  art  or  nature  given, 
To  different  nations  makes  their  blessings  even, 

Nature,  a  mother  kind  alike  to  al^ 
Still  grants  her  bliss  at  labour's  earnest  call ; 
With  food  as  well  the  peasant  is  supplied 
On  Idra's  cliffs  as  Arno's  shelvy  side ; 
And,  though  the  rocky  crested  summits  frown, 
These  rocks  by  custom  turn  to  beds  of  down. 
From  art  more  various  are  the  blessings  sent: 
Wealth,  commerce,  honour,  liberty,  content. 
Yet  these  each  other's  power  so  strong  contest, 
That  either  seems  destructive  of  the  rest,    [fails; 
Where  wealth  and  freedom  reign,  contentment 


OF    GOLDSMITH.  11 

And  honour  sinks  where  commerce  long  prevails. 
Hence  every  state,  to  one  lov'd  blessing  prone, 
Conforms  and  models  life  to  that  alone. 
Each  to  the  favourite  happiness  attends, 
And  spurns  the  plan  that  aims  at  other  ends ; 
Till,  carried  to  excess  in  each  domain, 
This  favourite  good  begets  peculiar  pain. 

But  let  us  try  these  truths  with  closer  eyes, 
And  trace  them  through  the  prospect  as  it  lies : 
Here  for  a  while,  my  proper  cares  resign'd, 
Here  let  me  sit  in  sorrow  for  mankind ; 
Like  yon  neglected  shrub  at  random  cast, 
That  shades  the  steep,  and  sighs  at  every  blast. 

Far  to  the  right,  where  Apennine  ascends, 
Bright  as  the  summer,  Italy  extends ; 
Its  uplands  sloping  deck  the  mountain's  side, 
Woods  over  woods  in  gay  theatric  pride ; 4 
While  oft  some  temple's  mouldering  tops  between 
With  venerable  grandeur  mark  the  scene. 

Could  nature's  bounty  satisfy  the  breast, 
The  sons  of  Italy  were  surely  blest. 

*  theatric  pride]  v.  Lycopkronis,  Cass.  v.  600. 
Gearpo/zop^wi  irpdf  iMrei  yEuhbtyM. 
Virg.  j£n.  v.  288.    — '  quern  collibus  undique  curvis 
Cingebant  silvae,  mediaque  in  valle  theatri 
Circus  erat ' — 
Senecae  Troades,  v.  1125.     '  Crescit  theatri  more.' 


12  THE   POEMS 

Whatever  fruits  in  different  climes  are  found, 
That  proudly  rise,  or  humbly  court  the  ground ; 
Whatever  blooms  in  torrid  tracts  appear, 
Whose  bright  succession  decks  the  varied  year ; 
Whatever  sweets  salute  the  northern  sky 
With  vernal  lives,  that  blossom  but  to  die ; 
These,  here  disporting,  own  the  kindred  soil, 
Nor  ask  luxuriance  from  the  planter's  toil ; 
While  sea-born  gales  their  gelid  wings  expand 
To  winnow  fragrance  round  the  smiling  land. 

But  small  the  bliss  that  sense  alone  bestows, 
And  sensual  bliss  is  all  the  nation  knows. 
In  florid  beauty  groves  and  fields  appear, 
Man  seems  the  only  growth  that  dwindles  here. 
Contrasted  faults  through  all  his  manners  reign ; 
Though  poor,  luxurious ;  though  submissive,  vain ; 
Though  grave,  yet  trifling ;  zealous,  yet  untrue ; 
And  even  in  penance  planning  sins  anew. 
All  evils  here  contaminate  the  mind, 
That  opulence  departed  leaves  behind : 
For  wealth  was  theirs ;  not  far  remov'd  the  date, 
When  commerce  proudly  flourished  through  the 

state ; 

At  her  command  the  palace  learnt  to  rise, 
Again  the  long-fallen  column  sought  the  skies ; 
The  canvas  glow'd  beyond  ev'n  nature  warm, 
The  pregnant  quarry  teem'd  with  human  form : 
Till,  more  unsteady  than  the  southern  gale, 
Commerce  on  other  shores  display'd  her  sail ; 


OF    GOLDSMITH.  13 

While  nought  remain'd  of  all  that  riches  gave, 
But  towns  unmann'd,  and  lords  without  a  slave : 
And  late  the  nation  found,  with  fruitless  skill, 
6  Its  former  strength  was  but  plethoric  ill. 

Yet  still  the  loss  of  wealth  is  here  supplied 
By  arts,  the  splendid  wrecks  of  former  pride ; 
From  these  the  feeble  heart  and  long-fallen  mind 
An  easy  compensation  seem  to  find. 
Here  may  be  seen,  in  bloodless  pomp  array'd, 
6  The  pasteboard  triumph  and  the  cavalcade ; 
Processions  form'd  for  piety  and  love, 
A  mistress  or  a  saint  in  every  grove. 
By  sports  like  these  are  all  their  cares  beguil'd, 
The  sports  of  children  satisfy  the  child ; 
Each  nobler  aim,  represt  by  long  control, 
Now  sinks  at  last,  or  feebly  mans  the  soul ; 
While  low  delights,  succeeding  fast  behind, 
In  happier  meanness  occupy  the  mind : 
As  in  those  domes  where  Caesars  once  bore  sway, 
Defac'd  by  time  and  tottering  in  decay, 
There  in  the  ruin,  heedless  of  the  dead, 
The  shelter-seeking  peasant  builds  his  shed ; 

5  Its]  '  In  short,  the  state  resembled  one  of  those  hodies 
bloated  with  disease,  whose  bulk  is  only  a  symptom  of  its 
wretchedness :  their  former  opulence  only  rendered  them  more 
impotent.'  —  Cit .  of  the  World,  i.  98. 

6  '  Where,  in  the  midst  of  porticos,  processions,  and  caval- 
cades,  abbes    turn    shepherds;    and  shepherdesses,   without 
gheep,  indulge  their  innocent  divertimenti.'  —  Pres.  State  of 
Learning,  p.  39. 


14  THE    POEMS 

And,  wondering  man  could  want  the  larger  pile, 
Exults,  and  owns  his  cottage  with  a  smile. 

My  soul,  turn  from  them ;  turn  we  to  survey 
Where  rougher  climes  a  nobler  race  display ; 
Where  the  bleak  Swiss  their  stormy  mansion  tread, 
And  force  a  churlish  soil  for  scanty  bread : 
No  product  here  the  barren  hills  afford, 
But  man  and  steel,  the  soldier  and  his  sword ; 
No  vernal  blooms  their  torpid  rocks  array, 
But  winter  lingering  chills  the  lap  of  May ; 
No  zephyr  fondly  sues  the  mountain's  breast, 
But  meteors  glare,  and  stormy  glooms  invest. 

Yet  still,  even  here,  content  can  spread  a  charm, 
Redress  the  clime,  and  all  its  rage  disarm. 
Though  poor  the  peasant's  hut,  his  feasts  tho'  small, 
He  sees  his  little  lot  the  lot  of  all ; 
Sees  no  contiguous  palace  rear  its  head 
To  shame  the  meanness  of  his  humble  shed ; 
No  costly  lord  the  sumptuous  banquet  deal 
To  make  him  loathe  his  vegetable  meal ; 
But  calm,  and  bred  in  ignorance  and  toil, 
Each  wish  contracting,  fits  him  to  the  soil. 
Cheerful,  at  morn,  he  wakes  from  short  repose, 
Breasts  the  keen  air,  and  carols  as  he  goes ; 
7  With  patient  angle  trolls  the  finny  deep, 
Or  drives  his  venturous  ploughshare  to  the'steep ; 

'  «  The  best  manner  to  draw  np  the  finny  prey.' 

Cit.  of  the  World,  ii.  99. 


OF    GOLDSMITH.  15 

Or  seeks  the  den  where  snow-tracks  mark  the  way, 
8  And  drags  the  struggling  savage  into  day. 
At  night  returning,  every  labour  sped, 
He  sits  him  down,  the  monarch  of  a  shed ; 
Smiles  by  his  cheerful  fire,  and  round  surveys 
His  children's  looks,  that  brighten  at  the  blaze ; 
While  his  lov'd  partner,  boastful  of  her  hoard, 
Displays  her  cleanly  platter  on  the  board ; 
And  haply  too  some  pilgrim,  thither  led, 
With  many  a  tale  repays  the  nightly  bed. 

Thus  every  good  his  native  wilds  impart, 
Imprints  the  patriot  passion  on  his  heart; 
And  ev'n  those  ills,  that  round  his  mansion  rise, 
Enhance  the  bliss  his  scanty  fund  supplies. 
Dear  is  that  shed  to  which  his  soul  conforms, 
And  dear  that  hill  which  lifts  him  to  the  storms  ; 
And  as  a  child,  when  scaring  sounds  molest, 
Clings  close  and  closer  to  the  mother's  breast, 
So  the  loud  torrent,  and  the  whirlwind's  roar, 
But  bind  him  to  his  native  mountains  more. 

Such  are  the  charms  to  barren  states  assign'd ; 
Their  wants  but  few,  their  wishes  all  confin'd. 
Yet  let  them  only  share  the  praises  due, 
If  few  their  wants,  their  pleasures  are  but  few;9 

8  '  Drive  the  reluctant  savage  into  the  toils.' 

Cit.  of  the  World,  i.  112. 

9  See  Citizen  of  the  World,  i.  lett.  xi.  where  this  position  is 
enlarged  on. 


16  THE   POEMS 

10  For  every  want  that  stimulates  the  breast 
Becomes  a  source  of  pleasure  when  redrest. 
Whence  from  such  lands  each  pleasing  science  Hies 
That  first  excites  desire,  and  then  supplies  ; 
Unknown  to  them,  when  sensual  pleasures  cloy, 
To  fill  the  languid  pause  with  finer  joy ; 
Unknown  those  powers  that  raise  the  soul  to  flame. 
Catch  every  nerve,  and  vibrate  through  the  frame. 
Their  level  life  is  but  a  smouldering  fire, 
Unquench'd  by  want,  unfann'd  by  strong  desire ; 
Unfit  for  raptures,  or,  if  raptures  cheer 
On  some  high  festival  of  once  a  year, 
In  wild  excess  the  vulgar  breast  takes  fire, 
Till,  buried  in  debauch,  the  bliss  expire. 

But  not  their  joys  alone  thus  coarsely  flow : 
Their  morals,  like  their  pleasures,  are  but  low ; 
For,  as  refinement  stops,  from  sire  to  son, 
Unalter'd,  unimprov'd,  the  manners  run  ; 
And  love's  and  friendship's  finely  pointed  dart 
Fall  blunted  from  each  indurated  heart. 
Some  sterner  virtues  o'er  the  mountain's  breast 
May  sit,  like  falcons  cowering  on  the  nest ; 
But  all  the  gentler  morals,  such  as  play 
Thro'  life's  more  cultur'd  walks,  and  charm  the  way 
These,  far  dispers'd,  on  timorous  pinions  fly, 
To  sport  and  flutter  in  a  kinder  sky. 


10  For  every  want]  '  Every  want  becomes  a  means  of  plea- 
sure in  the  redressing.' —  Gold.  An.  Nat.  ii.  123. 


OF    GOLDSMITH.  17 

To  kinder  skies,  where  gentler  manners  reign, 
I  turn ;  and  France  displays  her  bright  domain. 
Gay,  sprightly  land  of  mirth  and  social  ease, 
Pleas'd  with  thyself,  whom  all  the  world  can 

please, 

How  often  have  I  led  thy  sportive  choir, 
With  tuneless  pipe,  beside  the  murmuring  Loire ! 
Where  shading  elms  along  the  .margin  grew, 
And  freshen'd  from  the  wave  the  zephyr  flew ; 
And  haply,  though  my  harsh  touch  faltering  still, 
But  mock'd  all  tune,  and  marr'd  the  dancer's  skill ; 
Yet  would  the  village  praise  my  wondrous  power, 
And  dance,  forgetful  of  the  noontide  hour. 
Alike  all  ages  :  dames  of  ancient  days 
Have  led  their  children  thro'  the  mirthful  maze ; 
And  the  gay  grandsire,  skill'd  in  gestic  lore, 
Has  frisk'd  beneath  the  burthen  of  threescore. 

So  blest  a  life  these  thoughtless  realms  display, 
Thus  idly  busy  rolls  their  world  away : 
Theirs  are  those  arts  that  mind  to  mind  endear, 
For  honour  forms  the, social  temper  here: 
Honour,  that  praise  which  real  merit  gains, 
Or  even  imaginary  worth  obtains, 
Here  passes  current ;  paid  from  hand  to  hand, 
It  shifts  in  splendid  traffic  round  the  land  ; 
From  courts,  to  camps,  to  cottages  it  strays, 
And  all  are  taught  an  avarice  of  praise : 
They  please,  are  pleas'd,  they  give  to  get  esteem, 
Till,  seeming  blest,  they  grow  to  what  they  seem. 
2 


18  THE   POEMS 

But  while  this  softer  art  their  bliss  supplies, 
It  gives  their  follies  also  room  to  rise ; 
For  praise  too  dearly  lov'd,  or  warmly  sought, 
Enfeebles  all  internal  strength  of  thought: 
And  the  weak  soul,  within  itself  unblest, 
Leans  for  all  pleasure  on  another's  breast. 
Hence  ostentation  here,  with  tawdry  art, 
Pants  for  the  vulgar  praise  which  fools  impart ; 
Here  vanity  assumes  her  pert  grimace, 
And  trims  her  robes  of  frieze  with  copper  lace , 
Here  beggar  pride  defrauds  her  daily  cheer, 
To  boast  one  splendid  banquet  once  a  year : 
The  mind  still  turns  where  shifting  fashion  draws, 
Nor  weighs  the  solid  worth  of  self-applause. 

To  men  of  other  minds  my  fancy  flies, 
Embosom'd  in  the  deep  where  Holland  lies. 
Methinks  her  patient  sons  before  me  stand, 
Where  the  broad  ocean  leans  against  the  land, u 
And,  sedulous  to  stop  the  coming  tide, 
Lift  the  tall  rampire's  artificial  pride. 
Onward  methinks,  and  diligently  slow, 
The  firm  connected  bulwark  seems  to  grow, 
Spreads  its  long  arms  amidst  the  watery  roar, 
Scoops  out  an  empire,  and  usurps  the  shore. 

11  v.  Statii  Theb.  iv.  62:  « Et  terris  maria  inclinata  repellit.' 
And  Dryden,  Annus.  Mirab,  St.  clxiv.: 

'  And  view  the  ocean  leaning  on  the  sky.' 

'Bent  his  breast  against  the  broad  ware.' —  Cit.  of  th» 
World,  ii.  101. 


OF    GOLDSMITH.  19 

While  the  pent  ocean,  rising  o'er  the  pile, 
Sees  an  amphibious  world  beneath  him  smile ; 
The  slow  canal,  the  yellow-blossom'd  vale, 
The  willow-tufted  bank,  the  gliding  sail, 
The  crowded  mart,  the  cultivated  plain, 
12  A  new  creation  rescued  from  his  reign. 

Thus,  while  around  the  wave-subjected  soil 
Impels  the  native  to  repeated  toil, 
Industrious  habits  in  each  bosom  reign, 
And  industry  begets  a  love  of  gain. 
Hence  all  the  good  from  opulence  that  springs, 
With  all  those  ills  superfluous  treasure  brings, 
Are  here  display'd.    Their  much  lov'd  wealth  im- 
Convenience,  plenty,  elegance,  and  arts ;     [parts 
But,  view  them  closer,  craft  and  fraud  appear ; 
18  Even  liberty  itself  is  barter'd  here. 
At  gold's  superior  charms  all  freedom  flies, 
The  needy  sell  it,  and  the  rich  man  buys. 
14  A  land  of  tyrants,  and  a  den  of  slaves, 
Here  wretches  seek  dishonourable  graves, 
And  calmly  bent,  to  servitude  conform, 
Dull  as  their  lakes  that  slumber  in  the  storm. 

12  A  new]  '  Holland  seems  to  be  a  conquest  upon  the  sea, 
and  in  a  manner  rescued  from  its  bosom.' 

Gold.  An.  Nat.  i.  p.  276. 

13  Even  liberty}  Slavery  was  permitted  in  Holland;   children 
were  sold  by  their  parents  for  a  certain  number  of  years. 

14  A  nation  once  famous  for  setting  the  world  an  example 
of  freedom  is  now  become  a  land  of  tyrants  and  a  (Jen  of  slaves.' 

Cit.  of  the  World,  i.  p.  147. 


20  THE    POEMS 

Heavens !  how  unlike  their  Belgic  sires  of  old ! 
Rough,  poor,  content,  ungovernably  bold ; 
War  in  each  breast,  and  freedom  on  each  brow ; 
How  much  unlike  the  sons  of  Britain  now! 

Fir'd  at  the  sound,  my  genius  spreads  her  wing, 
15  And  flies  where  Britain  courts  the  western 

spring ; 

Where  lawns  extend  that  scorn  Arcadian  pride, 
And  brighter  streams  than  fam'd  Hydaspes  glide. 
There  all  around  the  gentlest  breezes  stray, 
There  gentle  music  melts  on  every  spray ; 
Creation's  mildest  charms  are  there  combin'd, 
Extremes  are  only  in  the  master's  mhid ! 
Stern  o'er  each  bosom  reason  holds  her  state 
With  daring  aims  irregularly  great ; 
Pride  in  their  port,  defiance  in  their  eye, 
I  see  the  lords  of  human  kind  pass  by ; 
Intent  on  high  designs,  a  thoughtful  band, 
By  forms  unfashion'd,  fresh  from  nature's  hand, 
Fierce  in  their  native  hardiness  of  soul, 
True  to  imagin'd  right,  above  control, — 
While  even  the  peasant  boasts  these  rights  to  scan, 
And  learns  to  venerate  himself  as  man. 

l5  So  in  the  Cit.  of  the  World,  ii.  p.  196,  in  praise  of  Bri- 
tain. '  Yet  from  the  vernal  softness  of  the  air,  the  verdure 
of  the  fields,  the  transparency  of  the  streams,  and  the  beauty 
of  the  women ;  here  love  might  sport  among  painted  lawns 
and  warbling  groves,  and  carol  upon  gales  wafting  at  onoe 
both  fragrance  and  harmony.' 


OF    GOLDSMITH.  21 

Thine,  Freedom,  thine  the  blessings  pictur'd  here, 
Thine  are  those  charms  that  dazzle  and  endear; 
Too  blest,  indeed,  were  such  without  alloy ; 
But,  foster'd  even  by  freedom,  ills  annoy : 
That  independence  Britons  prize  too  high, 
Keeps  man  from  man,  and  breaks  the  social  tie ; 
The  self-dependent  lordlings  stand  alone, 
All  claims  that  bind  and  sweeten  life  unknown ; 
Here,  by  the  bonds  of  nature  feebly  held, 
Minds  combat  minds,  repelling  and  repell'd ; 
16  Ferments  arise,  imprison'd  factions  roar, 
Represt  ambition  struggles  round  her  shore ; 
Till,  over-wrought,  the  general  system  feels 
Its  motions  stop,  or  frenzy  fire  the  wheels. 

Nor  this  the  worst.     As  nature's  ties  decay, 
As  duty,  love,  and  honour  fail  to  sway, 
Fictitious  bonds,  the  bonds  of  wealth  and  law, 
Still  gather  strength,  and  force  unwilling  awe. 
Hence  all  obedience  bows  to  these  alone, 
And  talent  sinks,  and  merit  weeps  unknown ; 
Till  time  may  come,  when,  stript  of  all  her  charms 
The  land  of  scholars,  and  the  nurse  of  arms, 
"Where  noble  stems  transmit  the  patriot  flame, 
Where  kings  have  toil'd  and  poets  wrote  for  fame 

16  'It  is  extremely  difficult  to  induce  a  number  of  free 
beings  to  co-operate  for  their  mutual  benefits:  every  possible 
advantage  will  necessarily  be  sought,  and  every  attempt  to 
procure  it  must  be  attended  with  a  new  fermentation.' 

Cit.  of  the  World,  ii.  228 


22  THE   POEMS 

One  sink  of  level  avarice  shall  lie, 

And  scholars,  soldiers,  kings,  unhonour'd  die. 

Yet  think  not,  thus  when  freedom's  ills  I  state, 
17 1  mean  to  flatter  kings,  or  court  the  great : 
Ye  powers  of  truth,  that  bid  my  soul  aspire, 
Far  from  my  bosom  drive  the  low  desire  ; 
And  thou,  fair  Freedom,  taught  alike  to  feel 
The  rabble's  rage,  and  tyrant's  angry  steel ; 
Thou  transitory  flower,  alike  undone 
By  proud  contempt,  or  favour's  fostering  sun, 
Still  may  thy  blooms  the  changeful  clime  endure 
I  only  would  repress  them  to  secure : 
For  just  experience  tells,  in  every  soil, 
That  those  who  think  must  govern  those  that 

toil; 

And  all  that  freedom's  highest  aims  can  reach, 
Is  but  to  lay  proportion'd  loads  on  each. 
Hence,  should  one  order  disproportion^  grow. 
Its  double  weight  must  ruin  all  below. 

O  then  how  blind  to  all  that  truth  requires, 
Who  think  it  freedom  when  a  part  aspires ! 
Calm  is  my  soul,  nor  apt  to  rise  in  arms, 
Except  when  fast  approaching  danger  warms : 

17  'In  the  things  I  have  hitherto  written,  I  have  neither 
allured  the  vanity  of  the  great  by  flattery,  nor  satisfied  tLe 
malignity  of  the  vulgar  by  scandal;  but  have  endeavoured  to 
get  an  honest  reputation  by  liberal  pursuits.' 

v.  Prrf.  to  Eng.  History,  p.  398. 


OF    GOLDSMITH.  23 

But  when  contending  chiefs  blockade  the  throne, 

18  Contracting  regal  power  to  stretch  their  own  ; 
When  I  behold  a  factious  band  agree 

To  call  it  freedom  when  themselves  are  free ; 
Each  wanton  judge  new  penal  statutes  draw, 

19  Laws  grind  the  poor,  and  rich  men  rule  the  law ; 
The  wealth  of  climes,  where  savage  nations  roam, 
Pillag'd  from  slaves  to  purchase  slaves  at  home ; 
Fear,  pity,  justice,  indignation,  start, 

Tear  off  reserve,  and  bare  my  swelling  heart ; 
Till,  half  a  patriot,  half  a  coward  grown, 
20 1  fly  from  petty  tyrants  to  the  throne. 

Yes,  Brother,  curse  with  me  that  baleful  hour, 
When  first  ambition  struck  at  regal  power; 

18  '  It  is  not  yet  decided  in  politics,  whether  the  diminution 
of  kingly  power  in  England  tends  to  increase  the  happiness  or 
freedom  of  the  people.     For  my  own  part,  from  seeing  the 
bad  effects  of  the  tyranny  of  the  great  in  those  republican 
states  that  pretend  to  be  free,  I  cannot  help  wishing  that  our 
monarchs  may  still  be  allowed  to  enjoy  the  power  of  control- 
ling the  encroachments  of  the  great  at  home.' 

Goldsmith's  Pref.  to  Hist,  of  England. 
'  It  is  the  interest  of  the  great  to  diminish  kingly  power  as 
much  as  possible.'  —  Vic.  of  Wakef.  p.  101. 

19  « AVfaat  they  may  then  expect  may  be  seen  by  turning 
our  eyes  to  Holland,  Genoa,  or  Venice,  where  the  laws  govern 
the  poor,  and  the  rich  govern  the  law.'  —  Vic.  of  Wakef.  cxix. 

'There  was  a  time  even  here  when  titles  softened  the  rigour 
of  the  law;  when  dignified  wretches  were  suffered  to  live.' 

Cit.  of  the  World,  i.  162. 

20  I  fly]  '  Marriage  may  all  these  petty  tyrants  chase.' 

Pope's  Ep.  to  Mrs.  Blount 


24  THE   POEMS 

And  thus  polluting  honour  in  its  source, 
Gave  wealth  to  sway  the  mind  with  double  force, 
Have  we  not  seen,  round  Britain's  peopled  shore, 
Her  useful  sons  exchang'd  for  useless  ore  ? 
Seen  all  her  triumphs  but  destruction  haste, 
Like  flaring  tapers  brightening  as  they  waste ; 
Seen  opulence,  her  grandeur  to  maintain, 
Lead  stern  depopulation  in  her  train, 
And  over  fields  where  scatter'd  hamlets  rose, 
In  barren,  solitary  pomp  repose? 
Have  we  not  seen,  at  pleasure's  lordly  call, 
The  smiling,  long  frequented  village  fall? 
Beheld  the  duteous  son,  the  sire  decay'd, 
The  modest  matron,  and  the  blushing  maid, 
Forc'd  from  their  homes,  a  melancholy  train, 
To  traverse  climes  beyond  the  western  main ; 

21  Where  wild  Oswego  spreads  her  swamps  around, 
And  Niagara  stuns  with  thundering  sound  ? 

Even  now,  perhaps,  as  there  some  pilgrim  strays 

22  Thro'  tangled  forests,  and  thro'  dangerous  ways ; 
28  Where  beasts  with  man  divided  empire  claim, 
And  the  brown  Indian  marks  with  murderous  aim ; 

21  Where  wild] 

'  Oh!  let  me  fly  a  land  that  spurns  the  brave, 
Oswego's  dreary  shores  shall  be  my  grave.' 

Goldsmith's  Threnodia  Augustalit. 
82  Through  tangled]  '  The  forests  are  dark  and  tangled.' 

An.  Nat.  vol.  i.  p.  400. 

23  Where  beasts]    'Where  man  in  his  savage  state  owns  infe- 
rior strength,  and  the  beasts  claim  divided  dominion.' 

Gold.  An.  Nat.  vol.  ii.  p.  9,  12. 


OF    GOLDSMITH.  25 

There,  while  above  the  giddy  tempest  flies, 

And  all  around  distressful  yells  arise, 

The  pensive  exile,  bending  with  his  woe, 

To  stop  too  fearful,  and  too  faint  to  go, 

Casts  a  long  look  where  England's  glories  shine, 

And  bids  his  bosom  sympathize  with  mine. 

Vain,  very  vain,  my  weary  search  to  find 
That  bliss  which  only  centres  in  the  mind : 
Why  have  I  stray'd  from  pleasure  and  repose, 
To  seek  a  good  each  government  bestows? 

24  In  every  government,  though  terrors  reign, 
Though  tyrant  kings  or  tyrant  laws  restrain, 
How  small  of  all  that  human  hearts  endure, 
That  part  which  laws  or  kings  can  cause  or  cure ! 
Still  to  ourselves  in  every  place  consign'd, 

Our  own  felicity  we  make  or  find : 

With  secret  course,  which  no  loud  storms  annoy, 

Glides  the  smooth  current  of  domestic  joy. 

25  The  lifted  axe,  the  agonizing  wheel, 

24  In  every]  '  Every  mind  seems  capable  of  entertaining  a 
certain  quantity  of  happiness,  which  no  constitutions  can  in- 
crease, no  circumstances  alter,  and  entirely  independent  on 
fortune.'  —  Cit.  of  the  World,  i.  p.  185. 

25  lifted  axe] 

'  Some  the  sharp  axe,  and  some  the  painful  wheel.' 

v.  Blackmore's  Eliza,  p.  76. 

'The  lifted  axe.'  v.  Blackmare's  £.  Arthur,  p.  220. 

'  When  with  her  lifted  axe  proud  Martha  stood.' 

v.  State  Poems,  vol.  ii.  p.  328. 


26  THE    POEMS    OF    GOLDSMITH. 

26  Luke's  iron  crown,  and  Damiens' v  bed  of  steel, 
To  men  remote  from  power  but  rarely  known, 
Leave  reason,  faith,  and  conscience,  all  our  own. w 

26  George  and  Luke  Dosa  were  two  brothers  who  headed 
an  unsuccessful  revolt  against  the  Hungarian  nobles  at  the 
opening  of  the  sixteenth  century;  and  George  (not  Luke) 
underwent  the  torture  of  the  red-hot  iron-crown,  as  a  punish- 
ment for  allowing  himself  to  be  proclaimed  king  of  Hungary, 
1513,  by  the  rebellious  peasants. — See  Biographic  Dhiversetle, 
xi.  604.    The  two  brothers  belonged  to  one  of  the  native 
races  of  Transylvania,  called  Szecklers  or  Zecklers. — FOKS- 
TER'S  Goldsmith,  i.  395,  (ed.  1854.)— P.  C. 

27  Robert  Franpois  Damiens  was  put  to  death  with  revolt- 
ing barbarity,  in  the  year  1757,  for  an  attempt  to  assassinate 
Louis  XV.    P.  C. 

28  Dr.  Johnson,  being  questioned  by  Boswell,  avowed  the 
authorship  of  the  ten  concluding  verses  of  The  Traveller, 
(excepting  the  last  couplet  but  one,)  and  also  of  the  420th 
line: — 

"  To  stop  too  fearful,  and  too  faint  to  go."— C. 


THE  DESERTED  VILLAGE. 

A    POEM. 


"  The  Deserted  Village,  a  Poem  by  Dr.  Goldsmith :  London : 
Printed  for  W.  Griffin,  at  Garrick's  Head,  in  Catherine  Street, 
Strand,  1770,"  4to,  was  first  published  in  May,  1770,  and  ran 
through  six  editions  in  the  same  year  in  which  it  was  first 
published.  The  price  was  2s.  The  sum  received  by  Gold- 
smith for  ''  The  Deserted  Village,"  is  unknown. — CUNNING- 
HAM. 


DEDICATION. 


TO  SIR  JOSHUA  REYNOLDS. 

DEAR  SIR,  —  I  can  have  no  expectations,  in  an 
address  of  this  kind,  either  to  add  to  your  repu- 
tation, or  to  establish  my  own.  You  can  gain 
nothing  from  my  admiration,  as  I  am  ignorant  of 
that  art  in  which  you  are  said  to  excel ;  and  I 
may  lose  much  hy  the  severity  of  your  judgment, 
as  few  have  a  juster  taste  in  poetry  than  you. 
Setting  interest,  therefore,  aside,  to  which  I  never 
paid  much  attention,  I  must  be  indulged  at  present 
in  following  my  affections.  The  only  dedication 
I  ever  made  was  to  my  brother,  because  I  loved 
him  better  than  most  other  men.  He  is  since 
dead.  Permit  me  to  inscribe  this  poem  to 
you. 

How  far  you  may  be  pleased  with  the  versifica- 
tion and  mere  mechanical  parts  of  this  attempt, 
I  do  not  pretend  to  enquire  ;  but  I  know  you  will 
object  (and  indeed  several  of  our  best  and  wisest 


30  DEDICATION. 

friends  concur  in  the  opinion),  that  the  depopula- 
tion it  deplores  is  nowhere  to  be  seen,  and  the 
disorders  it  laments-  are  only  to  be  found  in  the 
poet's  own  imagination.  To  this  I  can  scarce 
make  any  other  answer  than  that  I  sincerely  be- 
lieve what  I  have  written ;  that  I  have  taken  all 
possible  pains,  in  my  country  excursions,  for  these 
four  or  five  years  past,  to  be  certain  of  what  I 
allege  ;  and  that  all  my  views  and  enquiries  have 
led  me  to  believe  those  miseries  real,  which  I 
here  attempt  to  display.  But  this  is  not  the  place 
to  enter  into  an  enquiry,  whether  the  country  be 
depopulating  or  not .  the  discussion  would  take . 
up  much  room,  and  I  should  prove  myself,  at 
best,  an  indifferent  politician,  to  tire  the  reader 
with  a  long  preface,  when  I  want  his  unfatigued 
attention  to  a  long  poem. 

In  regretting  the  depopulation  of  the  country, 
I  inveigh  against  the  increase  of  our  luxuries; 
and  here  also  I  expect  the  shout  of  modern  poli- 
ticians against  me.  For  twenty  or  thirty  years 
past,  it  has  been  the  fashion  to  consider  luxury 
as  one  of  the  greatest  national  advantages ;  and 
all  the  wisdom  of  antiquity,  in  that  particular,  as 
erroneous.  Still,  however,  I  must  remain  a  pro- 
fessed ancient  on  that  head,  and  continue  to  think 
those  luxuries  prejudicial  to  states  by  which  so 


DEDICATION.  31 

many  vices  are  introduced,  and  so  many  king- 
doms have  been  undone  Indeed,  so  much  has 
been  poured  out  of  late  on  the  other  side  of  the 
question,  that,  merely  for  the  sake  of  novelty  and 
variety,  one  would  sometimes  wish  to  be  in  the 
right.  —  I  am,  dear  Sir 

Your  sincere  Friend 

and  ardent  Admirer, 

OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


'  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  painted  a  particularly  fine  picture  in 
point  of  expression  especially,  of  Resignation,  and  dedicated 
the  print  taken  from  it  to  Dr.  Goldsmith,  with  some  lines 
tinder  it  quoted  from  the  "  Deserted  Village."  This  seems  to 
have  been  done  by  Sir  Joshua  as  a  return  of  the  compliment 
to  Goldsmith,  who  had  dedicated  the  poem  to  him.'  —  v.  North' 
oote's  Life  of  Reynolds,  p.  1G6. 


THE   DESERTED   VILLAGE. 


SWEET  Auburn !  loveliest  village  of  the  plain, 
"Where  health  and  plenty  cheer'd  the  labouring 

swain, 

Where  smiling  spring  its  earliest  visit  paid, 
And  parting  summer's  lingering  blooms  delayM : 
Dear  lovely  bowers  of  innocence  and  ease. 
Seats  of  my  youth,  when  every  sport  could  please! 
How  often  have  I  loiter'd  o'er  thy  green, 
Where  humble  happiness  endear'd  each  scene ! 
How  often  have  I  paus'd  on  every  charm, 
The  shelter'd  cot,  the  cultivated  farm, 
The  never-failing  brook,  the  busy  mill, 
The  decent  church  that  topt  the  neighbouring 

hill, 

The  hawthorn  bush,  with  seats  beneath  the  shade, 
For  talking  age  and  whispering  lovers  made ! 
How  often  have  I  blest  the  coming  day, 
When  toil  remitting  lent  its  turn  to  play, 
And  all-  the  village  train,  from  labour  free, 
Led  up  their  sports  beneath  the  spreading  tree ; 
While  many  a  pastime  circled  in  the  shade, 
The  young  contending  as  the  old  survey'd ; 
3 


34  THE    POEMS 

And  many  a  gambol  frolick'd  o'er  the  ground, 
And  sleights  of  art  and  feats  of  strength  went  round ; 
And  still,  as  each  repeated  pleasure  tir'd, 
Succeeding  sports  the"  mirthful  band  inspir'd ; 
The  dancing  pair  that  simply  sought  renown, 
By  holding  out,  to  tire  each  other  down ; 
The  swain  mistrustless  of  his  smutted  face, 
"While  secret  laughter  titter'd  round  the  place ; 
The  bashful  virgin's  sidelong  looks  of  love, 
The  matron's  glance  that  would  those  looks  reprove : 
These  were  thy  charms,  sweet  village !  sports  like 

these, 

With  sweet  succession,  taught  e'en  toil  to  please ; 
These  round  thy  bowers  their  cheerful  influence 

shed,  [are  fled. 

These  were  thy  charms,  —  but  all  these  charms 

Sweet  smiling  village,  loveliest  of  the  lawn ! 
Thy  sports  are  fled,  and  all  thy  charms  withdrawn ; 
Amidst  thy  bowers  the  tyrant's  hand  is  seen, 
And  desolation  saddens  all  thy  green : 
One  only  master  grasps  the  whole  domain, 
And  half  a  tillage  stints  thy  smiling  plain ; 
No  more  thy  glassy  brook  reflects  the  day, 
But,  chok'd  with  sedges,  works  its  weedy  way; 
Along  thy  glades,  a  solitary  guest, 
1  The  hollow-sounding  bittern  guards  its  nest ; 

i  Tht  hollow]  '  There  is  no  sound  so  dismally  hollow  as  the 
booming  of  the  bittern.'  —  Gold.  An.  Nat.  Ti.  p.  2. 


OF    GOLDSMITH.  35 

Amidst  thy  desert-walks  the  lapwing  flies, 
And  tires  their  echoes  with  unvaried  cries. 
Sunk  are  thy  bowers  in  shapeless  ruin  all, 
And  the  long  grass  o'ertops  the  mouldering  wall ; 
And,  trembling,  shrinking  from  the  spoiler's  hand, 
Far,  far  away  thy  children  leave  the  land. 

HI  fares  the  land,  to  hastening  ills  a  prey, 
2  Where  wealth  accumulates,  and  men  decay : 
8  Princes  and  lords  may  flourish,  or  may  fade ; 
A  breath  can  make  them,  as  a  breath  has  made  • 
But  a  bold  peasantry,  their  country's  pride, 
When  once  destroy'd,  can  never  be  supplied. 

A  time  there  was,  ere  England's  griefs  began, 
When  every  rood  of  ground  maintain'd  its  man ; 
For  him  light  labour  spread  her  wholesome  store, 
Just  gave  what  life  requir'd,  but  gave  no  more : 

2  Where}  '  Wealth  in  all  commercial  states  is  found  to 
accumulate ;  the  very  laws  may  contribute  to  the  accumula- 
tion of  wealth,  as  when  the  natural  ties  that  bind  the  rich 
and  poor  together  are  broken,'  Ac. —  Vic.  of  Wakefield,  p.  102. 
8  Princes}  '  Vespasianus  bene  intelligit  caeteros  quidein 
amicos  suos  niti  iis  quae  ab  ipso  acceperint,  quaeque  ipsi 
accumulare,  et  in  alios  congerere  promtum  est:  Marcelluin 
antem  et  Crispum  attulisse  ad  amicitiam  suam  quod  non  a 
Principe  acceperint,  nee  accipi  possit.' 

De  Caus.  Cor.  Eloq.  0.  viii. 
'  A  kynge  may  spille,  a  kynge  may  save, 
A  kynge  may  make  a  lorde  a  knave; 
And  of  a  knave  a  lorde  also.' 

(rower's  Cunf.  Amantis,  fol.  152. 


36 

His  best  companions,  innocence  and  health ; 
And  his  best  riches,  ignorance  of  wealth. 

But  times  are  alter'd :  trade's  unfeeling  train 
Usurp  the  land,  and  dispossess  the  swain ; 
Along  the  lawn,  where  scatter'd  hamlets  rose, 
Unwieldy  wealth  and  cumbrous  pomp  repose ; 
And  every  want  to  opulence  allied, 
And  every  pang  that  tolly  pays  to  pride. 
Those  gentle  hours  that  plenty  bade  to  bloom, 
4  Those  calm  desires  that  ask'd  but  little  room, 
Those  healthful  sports  that  grac'd  the  peaceful 

scene, 

Liv'd  in  each  look,  and  brighten'd  all  the  green  ; 
These,  far  departing,  seek  a  kinder  shore, 
And  rural  mirth  and  manners  are  no  more. 

Sweet  Auburn !  parent  of  the  blissful  hour, 
Thy  glades  forlorn  confess  the  tyrant's  power. 
Here,  as  I  take  my  solitary  rounds, 
Amidst  thy  tangling  walks  and  ruin'd  grounds, 
And,  many  a  year  elaps'd,  return  to  view 
Where  once  the  cottage  stood,  the  hawthorn  grew, 
Remembrance  wakes,  with  all  her  busy  train, 
Swells  at  my  breast,  and  turns  the  past  to  pain. 

In  all  my  wanderings  round  this  world  of  care, 
In  all  my  griefs  —  and  God  has  given  my  share  — 

*   Calm  desires}  '  Gentle  thoughts  and  calm  desires  I ' 

Carew't  Poems,  p.  22. 


OF   GOLDSMITH.  37 

I  still  had  hopes  my  latest  hours  to  crown, 
Amidst  these  humble  bowers  to  lay  me  down : 
To  husband  out  life's  taper  at  the  close, 
And  keep  the  flame  from  wasting  by  repose ; 
I  still  had  hopes  —  for  pride  attends  us  still  — 
Amidst  the  swains  to  show  my  book-learn'd  skill, 
Around  my  fire  an  evening  group  to  draw, 
And  tell  of  all  I  felt,  and  all  I  saw  ; 
And,  as  a  hare,  whom  hounds  and  horns  pursue, 
Pants  to  the  place  from  whence  at  first  she  flew, 
I  still  had  hopes,  my  long  vexations  past, 
Here  to  return,  —  and  die  at  home  at  last. 

0  blest  retirement !  friend  to  life's  decline, 
Retreat  from  care,  that  never  must  be  mine, 
How  blest  is  he  who  crowns  in  shades  like  these 
A  youth  of  labour  with  an  age  of  ease ; 
Who  quits  a  world  where  strong  temptations  try, 
6  And,  since  'tis  hard  to  combat,  learns  to  fly ! 
For  him  no  wretches,  born  to  work  and  weep, 
Explore  the  mine,  or  tempt  the  dangerous  deep ; 
No  surly  porter  stands  in  guilty  state, 
To  spurn  imploring  famine  from  the  gate : 
But  on  he  moves  to  meet  his  latter  end, 
Angels  around  befriending  virtue's  friend ; 
Bends  to  the  grave  with  unperceiv'd  decay, 
While  Resignation  gently  slopes  the  way  j 

*  « By  struggling  with  misfortunes,  we  are  sure  to  receive 
some  wound  in  the  conflict:  the  only  method  to  come  off  vic- 
torious ia  by  running  away.'  —  Thr.  Bee,  p.  56. 


38  THE   POEMS 

And,  all  his  prospects  brightening  to  the  last, 
His  heaven  commences  ere  the  world  be  past. 

Sweet  was  the  sound,  when  oft  at  evening's  close 
Up  yonder  hill  the  village  murmur  rose ; 
There,  as  I  past  with  careless  steps  and  slow, 
The  mingling  notes  came  soften'd  from  below  ; 
The  swain  responsive  as  the  milkmaid  sung, 
The  sober  herd  that  low'd  to  meet  their  young ; 
The  noisy  geese  that  gabbled  o'er  the  pool, 
The  playful  children  just  let  loose  from  school ; 
The  watch-dog's  voice  that  bay'd  the  whispering 

wind, 

And  the  loud  laugh  that  spoke  the  vacant  mind . 
These  all  in  sweet  confusion  sought  the  shade, 
6  And  fill'd  each  pause  the  nightingale  had  made. 
But  now  the  sounds  of  population  fail, 
No  cheerful  murmurs  fluctuate  in  the  gale, 
No  busy  steps  the  grass-grown  footway  tread, 
But  all  the  bloomy  flush  of  life  is  fled. 
All  but  yon  widow'd,  solitary  thing, 
That  feebly  bends  beside  the  plashy  spring ; 
She,  wretched  matron,  forc'd  in  age,  for  bread, 
To  strip  the  brook  with  mantling  cresses  spread, 
To  pick  her  wintry  fagot  from  the  thorn, 
To  seek  her  nightly  shed,  and  weep  till  morn ; 
She  only  left  of  all  the  harmless  train, 
The  sad  historian  of  the  pensive  plain. 

8  And  filled]  « The  nightingale's  pausing  song  would  be  the 
proper  epithet  for  this  bird's  music.'  —  An.  Nat.  i.  p.  329. 


OF    GOLDSMITH.  39 

Near  yonder  copse,  where  once  the  garden  smil'd, 
And  still  where  many  a  garden  flower  grows  wild, 
There,  where  a  few  torn  shrubs  the  place  disclose, 
The  village  preacher's  modest  mansion  rose. 
A  man  he  was  to  all  the  country  dear, 
And  passing  rich  with  forty  pounds  a  year ; 
Remote  from  towns  he  ran  his  godly  race, 
Nor  e'er  had  chang'd,  nor  wish'd  to  change,  his 

place ; 

Unpractis'd  he  to  fawn,  or  seek  for  power, 
By  doctrines  fashion'd  to  the  varying  hour ; 
Far  other  aims  his  heart  had  learn'd  to  prize, 
More  skill'd  to  raise  the  wretched  than  to  rise. 
His  house  was  known  to  all  the  vagrant  train, 
He  chid  their  wanderings,  but  reliev'd  their  pain ; 
The  long-remember'd  beggar  was  his  guest, 
T  Whose  beard  descending  swept  his  aged  breast; 
The  ruin'd  spendthrift,  now  no  longer  proud, 
Claim'd  kindred  there,  and  had  his  claims  allow'd ; 
The  broken  soldier,  kindly  bade  to  stay, 
Sate  by  his  fire,  and  talk'd  the  night  away ; 
Wept  o'er  his  wounds,  or  tales  of  sorrow  done, 
Shoulder'd  his  crutch,  and  shew'd  how  fields  were 

won. 
Pleas'd  with  his  guests,  the  good  man  learn'd  to 

glow, 
And  quite  forgot  their  vices  in  their  woe : 

1   Whose] 

*  Stay  till  my  beard  shall  sweep  mine  aged  breast.' 

Hall's  Satires,  p.  79,  ed.  Singer. 


40  THE   POEMS 

8  Careless  their  merits  or  their  faults  to  scan, 
His  pity  gave  ere  charity  began. 

Thus  to  relieve  the  wretched  was  his  pride, 
And  even  his  failings  lean'd  to  virtue's  side ; 
But  in  his  duty  prompt  at  every  call, 
He  watch'd  and  wept,  he  pray'd  and  felt  for  all ; 
And,  as  a  bird  each  fond  endearment  tries 
To  tempt  its  new-fledg'd  offspring  to  the  skies, 
He  tried  each  art,  reprov'd  each  dull  delay, 
Allur'd  to  brighter  worlds,  and  led  the  way. 

Beside  the  bed  where  parting  life  was  laid, 
And  sorrow,  guilt,  and  pain,  by  turns  dismay'd, 
The  reverend  champion  stood.     At  his  control, 
Despair  and  anguish  fled  the  struggling  soul ; 
Comfort  came  down  the  trembling  wretch  to  raise, 
And  his  last  faltering  accents  whisper'd  praise. 

At  church,  with  meek  and  unaffected  grace, 

9  His  looks  adorn'd  the  venerable  place ; 

10  Truth  from  his  lips  prevail'd  with  double  sway, 
And  fools,  who  came  to  scoff,  remain'd  to  pray. 

8  '  Want  pass'd  for  merit,  at  her  open  door.' 

Dryden'a  Elegies,  ii.  p.  180. 
•  « Hia  eyes  diffused  a  venerable  grace.' 

Dryden's  Good  Parson,  ill.  137. 
10    TnuK\ 

•  For  thou  e'en  sin  didst  in  such  words  array, 
That  some  who  came  bad  parts,  went  out  good  play.' 

Jcutp.  Mayne  to  the  Mem.  of  B.  Jonson. 
v.  Nicholls'  Col.  Poems,  i.  p.  256. 


OF   GOLDSMITH.  41 

The  service  past,  around  the  pious  man, 
With  steady  zeal,  each  honest  rustic  ran ; 
Even  children  follow'd,  with  endearing  wile, 
And  pluck'd  his  gown,  to  share  the  good  man's 

smile. 

His  ready  smile  a  parent's  warmth  exprest, 
Their  welfare  pleas'd  him,  and  their  cares  distrest; 
To  them  his  heart,  his  love,  his  griefs,  were  given, 
But  all  his  serious  thoughts  had  rest  in  heaven. 
11  As  some  tall  cliff  that  lifts  its  awful  form, 
Swells  from  the  vale,  and  midway  leaves  the  storm, 

11  A*  some] 

'As  some  tall  tower,  or  lofty  mountain's  brow 
Detains  the  sun,  illustrious  from  its  height, 
While  rising  vapours  and  descending  shades, 
With  damps  and  darkness  drown  the  spacious  vale, 
Philander  thus  augustly  rears  his  head.' 

Young's  Night  Thoughts,  b.  ii. 
And  compare  the  following  lines:  — 

'  Below  you  see,  involv'd  in  guilt  and  strife, 
The  vulgar  herd  tug  the  gall'd  load  of  life, 
While  you  on  nature's  highest  summit  sate, 
Unmov'd,  regardless  of  the  force  of  fate ; 
Olympus  thus  the  rage  of  heaven  divides, 
While  forky  lightning  plays  around  his  sides: 
Eternally  serene,  no  winter  sees, 
Nor  storms  nor  tempest  interrupt  his  ease, 
Insults  the  wreck,  and  higher  rears  his  head 
'Midst  foaming  deluges  around  him  spread. 
Hears  undisturb'd  descending  torrents  flow, 
And  spurns  the  thunder  as  it  lays  below.' 

Bp.  Warburton's  Transl.  from  Claudian 
m  F.  M.  Theodorus. 


42  THE   POEMS 

Though  round  its  breast  the  rolling  clouds  are 

spread, 
Eternal  sunshine  settles  on  its  head. 

Beside  yon  straggling  fence  that  skirts  the  way, 
With  blossom'd  furze  unprofitably  gay, 
There,  in  his  noisy  mansion,  skilPd  to  rule, 
The  village  master  taught  his  little  school. 
A  man  severe  he  was,  and  stern  to  view; 
I  knew  him  well,  and  every  truant  knew: 
Well  had  the  boding  tremblers  learn'd  to  trace 
The  day's  disasters  in  his  morning  face ; 
Full  well  they  laugh'd,  with  counterfeited  glee, 
At  all  his  jokes,  for  many  a  joke  had  he ; 
Full  well  the  busy  whisper,  circling  round, 
Convey'd  the  dismal  tidings  when  he  frown'd 
Yet  he  was  kind,  or,  if  severe  in  aught, 
The  love  he  bore  to  learning  was  in  fault. 
The  village  all  declar'd  how  much  he  knew ; 
'Twas  certain  he  could  write,  and  cipher  too ; 
Lands  he  could  measure,  terms  and  tides  pre- 


And  even  the  story  ran  that  he  could  gauge; 
In  arguing,  too,  the  parson  own'd  his  skill, 
For  even  though  vanquish'd  he  could  argue  still ; 
While  words  of  learned  length  and  thundering 

sound 

Amaz'd  the  gazing  rustics  rang'd  around ; 
And  still  they  gaz'd,  and  still  the  wonder  grew, 
That  one  small  head  could  carry  all  he  knew. 


OF    GOLDSMITH.  43 

But  past  is  all  his  fame.     The  very  spot, 
Where  many  a  time  he  triumph'd,  is  forgot. 
Near  yonder  thorn,  that  lifts  its  head  on  high, 
Where  once  the  sign-post  caught  the  passing  eye, 
Low  lies  that  house  where  nut-brown  draughts 

inspir'd, 

Where  gray-beard  mirth  and  smiling  toil  retir'd, 
Where  village  statesmen  talk'd  with  looks  profound, 
And  news  much  older  than  their  ale  went  round. 
Imagination  fondly  stoops  to  trace 
The  parlour  splendours  of  that  festive  place : 
The  whitewash'd  wall,  the  nicely  sanded  floor, 
The  varnish'd  clock  that  click'd  behind  the  door ; 
The  chest  contriv'd  a  double  debt  to  pay, 
A  bed  by  night,  a  chest  of  drawers  by  day ; 
The  pictures  plac'd  for  ornament  and  use, 
The  twelve  good  rules,  the  royal  game  of  goose ; 
The  hearth,  except  when  winter  chill'd  the  day, 
With  aspen  boughs,  and  flowers  and  fennel  gay ; 
While  broken  teacups,  wisely  kept  for  show, 
Rang'd  o'er  the  chimney,  glisten'd  in  a  row. 

Vain,  transitory  splendours !  could  not  all 
Reprieve  the  tottering  mansion  from  its  fall  ? 
Obscure  it  sinks,  nor  shall  it  more  impart 
An  hour's  importance  to  the  poor  man's  heart ; 
Thither  no  more  the  peasant  shall  repair 
To  sweet  oblivion  of  his  daily  care ; 
No  more  the  farmer's  news,  the  barber's  tale, 
No  more  the  woodman's  ballad  shall  prevail ; 


44  THE   POEMS 

No  more  the  smith  his  dusky  brow  shall  clear, 
Relax  his  ponderous  strength,  and  lean  to  hear ; 
The  host  himself  no  longer  shall  be  found 
Careful  to  see  the  mantling  bliss  go  round ; 
Nor  the  coy  maid,  half  willing  to  be  prest, 
Shall  kiss  the  cup  to  pass  it  to  the  rest. 

Yes !  let  the  rich  deride,  the  proud  disdain, 
These  simple  blessings  of  the  lowly  train ; 
To  me  more  dear,  congenial  to  my  heart, 
One  native  charm,  than  all  the  gloss  of  art. 
Spontaneous  joys,  where  nature  has  its  play, 
The  soul  adopts,  and  owns  their  first-born  sway ; 
Lightly  they  frolic  o'er  the  vacant  mind, 
Unenvied,  unmolested,  unconfin'd : 
But  the  long  pomp,  the  midnight  masquerade, 
With  all  the  freaks  of  wanton  wealth  array'd,  — 
In  these,  ere  triflers  half  their  wish  obtain, 
The  toiling  pleasure  sickens  into  pain ; 
And,  even  while  fashion's  brightest  arts  decoy, 
The  heart,  distrusting,  asks  if  this  be  joy. 

Ye  friends  to  truth,  ye  statesmen,  who  survey 
The  rich  man's  joys  increase,  the  poor's  decay, 
'Tis  yours  to  judge,  how  wide  the  limits  stand 
12  Between  a  splendid  and  a  happy  land. 
Proud  swells  the  tide  with  loads  of  freighted  ore, 

12  '  Too  much  commerce  may  injure  a  nation  as  well  as  too 
little  ;  and  there  is  a  wide  difference  between  a  conquering 
and  a  flourishing  empire.'  —  Cit.  of  the  World,  i.  98. 


OF    GOLDSMITH.  45 

And  shouting  Folly  hails  them  from  her  shore ; 
Hoards  e'en  beyond  the  miser's  wish  abound, 
And  rich  men  flock  from  all  the  world  around. 
Yet  count  our  gains.     This  wealth  is  but  a  name, 
That  leaves  our  useful  products  still  the  same. 
Not  so  the  loss.     The  man  of  wealth  and  pride 
18  Takes  up  a  space  that  many  poor  supplied  ; 
Space  for  his  lake,  his  park's  extended  bounds, 
Space  for  his  horses,  equipage,  and  hounds: 
The  robe  that  wraps  his  limbs  in  silken  sloth 
Has  robb'd  the  neighbouring  fields  of  half  their 

growth ; 

His  seat,  where  solitary  sports  are  seen, 
Indignant  spurns  the  cottage  from  the  green; 
Around  the  world  each  needful  product  flies, 
For  all  the  luxuries  the  world  supplies: 
While  thus  the  land,  adorn'd  for  pleasure  all, 
In  barren  splendour  feebly  waits  the  fall. 

M  As  some  fair  female,  unadorn'd  and  plain, 
Secure  to  please  while  youth  confirms  her  reign, 
Slights  every  borrow'd  charm  that  dress  supplies, 
Nor  shares  with  art  the  triumph  of  her  eyes ; 

13  Takes]  '  Abstulerat  miseris  tecta  supcrbus  ager.' 

Martial,  Ep.  1,  2,  3. 

14  « Veil'd  in  a  simple  robe,  their  best  attire, 

Beyond  the  pomp  of  dress;  for  loveliness 
Needs  not  the  foreign  aid  of  ornament, 
But  is,  when  unadorn'd,  adorn'd  the  most.' 

Thomson,  Autumn,  1.  202. 


46  THE    POEMS 

But  when  those  charms  are  past,  —  for  charms 

are  frail,  — 

When  time  advances,  and  when  lovers  fail, 
She  then  shines  forth,  solicitous  to  bless, 
In  all  the  glaring  impotence  of  dress : 
Thus  fares  the  land,  by  luxury  betrayed, 
In  nature's  simplest  charms  at  first  array'd ; 
But,  verging  to  decline,  its  splendours  rise, 
Its  vistas  strike,  its  palaces  surprise ; 
While,  scourged  by  famine  from  the  smiling  land. 
The  mournful  peasant  leads  his  humble  band ;  ' 
16  And  while  he  sinks,  without  one  arm  to  save, 
The  country  blooms  —  a  garden  and  a  grave. 

Where  then,  ah  where,  shall  poverty  reside, 
To  'scape  the  pressure  of  contiguous  pride  ? 
If  to  some  common's  fenceless  limits  stray'd, 
He  drives  his  flock  to  pick  the  scanty  blade, 
Those  fenceless  fields  the  sons  of  wealth  divide, 
And  even  the  bare-worn  common  is  denied. 
If  to  the  city  sped,  what  waits  him  there  ? 
16  To  see  profusion  that  he  must  not  share ; 
To  see  ten  thousand  baneful  arts  combin'd 
To  pamper  luxury,  and  thin  mankind ; 
To  see  those  joys  the  sons  of  pleasure  know 
Extorted  from  his  fellow-creature's  woe. 

l*  And  while]  '  Sinks  the  poor  babe,  without  a  hand  to  save.' 

Roscoe's  Nurse,  p.  69. 

16  To  see  profusion]  '  He  only  guards  those  luxuries  he  if 
not  fated  to  share.'  —  An.  Nat.  iv.  p.  43. 


OF    GOLDSMITH.  47 

Here  while  the  courtier  glitters  in  brocade, 
There  the  pale  artist  plies  the  sickly  trade ; 
Here  while  the  proud  their  long-drawn  pomps 

display, 

There  the  black  gibbet  glooms  beside  the  way. 
The  dome  where  Pleasure  holds  her  midnight  reign, 
Here,  richly  deck'd,  admits  the  gorgeous  train ; 
Tumultuous  grandeur  crowds  the  blazing  square, 
The  rattling  chariots  clash,  the  torches  glare. 
Sure  scenes  like  these  no  troubles  e'er  annoy ! 
Sure  these  denote  one  universal  joy !  [eyes 

Are  these  thy  serious  thoughts?    Ah!  turn  thine 
17  Where  the  poor  houseless  shivering  female  lies. 
She  once,  perhaps,  in  village  plenty  blest, 
Has  wept  at  tales  of  innocence  distrest ; 
Her  modest  looks  the  cottage  might  adorn, 
Sweet  as  the  primrose  peeps  beneath  the  thorn : 
Now  lost  to  all,  her  friends,  her  virtue  fled, 
Near  her  betrayer's  door  she  lays  her  head, 
And,  pinch'd  with  cold,  and  shrinking  from  the 

shower, 

With  heavy  heart  deplores  that  luckless  hour, 
When  idly  first,  ambitious  of  the  town, 
She  left  her  wheel,  and  robes  of  country  brown. 

if  'These  poor  shivering  females  have  once  seen  happier 
days,  and  been  flattered  into  beauty.  They  "have  been  prosti- 
tuted to  the  gay  and  luxurious  villain,  and  now  turned  out  to 
meet  the  severity  of  the  winter.  Perhaps  now  lying  at  the 
doors  of  their  betrayers,  they  sue  to  wretches  whose  hearts 
are  insensible.' —  Cit.  of  the  World,  ii.  211.  See  also  The 
Bee.  The  City  Night  Piece,  p.  126. 


48  THE   POEMS 

Do  thine,  sweet  Auburn,  thine,  the  loveliest 

train, 

Do  thy  fair  tribes  participate  her  pain  ? 
Even  now,  perhaps,  by  cold  and  hunger  led, 
At  proud  men's  doors  they  ask  a  little  bread. 

Ah,  no !     To  distant  climes,  a  dreary  scene, 
Where  half  the  convex  world  intrudes  between, 
Through  torrid  tracts  with  fainting  steps  they  go, 
Where  wild  Altama*  murmurs  to  their  woe. 
Far  different  there  from  all  that  charm'd  before, 
The  various  terrors  of  that  horrid  shore : 
Those  blazing  suns  that  dart  a  downward  ray, 
And  fiercely  shed  intolerable  day ; 
Those  matted  woods  where  birds  forget  to  sing, 
But  silent  bats  in  drowsy  clusters  cling  ; 
Those  pois'nousfieldswithrankluxuriancecrown'd, 
Where  the  dark  scorpion  gathers  death  around ; 
Where  at  each  step  the  stranger  fears  to  wake 
The  rattling  terrors  of  the  vengeful  snake  ; 
18  Where  crouching  tigers  wait  their  hapless  prey, 
And  savage  men  more  murderous  still  than  they ; 
While  oft  in  whirls  the  mad  tornado  flies, 
Mingling  the  ravag'd  landscape  with  the  skies. 
Far  different  these  from  every  former  scene, 
The  cooling  brook,  the  grassy-vested  green, 

*  [The  Altamaha,  in  Georgia,  is  referred  to.] 

18  '  To  savage  beasts  who  on  the  weaker  prey, 

Or  human  savages  more  wild  than  they ! ' 

Sir  W.  Temple,    v.  MclwlU'  Poemt,  ii.  80. 


OF    GOLDSMITH.  e  49 

The  breezy  covert  of  the  warbling  grove, 

19  That  only  shelter'd  thefts  of  harmless  love 

Good  Heaven !  what  sorrows  gloom'd  that  part- 
ing 'day 

That  call'd  them  from  their  native  walks  away ; 
When  the  poor  exiles,  every  pleasure  past, 

20  Hung  round  the  bowers,  and  fondly  look'd  their 

last, 

And  took  a  long  farewell,  and  wish'd  in  vain 
For  seats  like  these  beyond  the  western  main ; 
And,  shuddering  still  to  face  the  distant  deep, 
Return'd  and  wept,  and  still  return'd  to  weep ! 

21  The  good  old  sire  the  first  prepar'd  to  go 

To  new-found  worlds,  and  wept  for  others'  woe ; 
But  for  himself,  in  conscious  virtue  brave, 
He  only  wish'd  for  worlds  beyond  the  grave. 

19  That  only]  «  Thy  shady  groves 

Only  relieve  the  heats,  and  cover  loves, 
Sheltering  no  other  thefts  or  cruelties.' 

i>.  Nickolls'  Poems,  ii.  80. 
4  Often  in  amorous  thefts  of  lawless  love! ' 

v.  NicMls'  Poems,  ii.  278. 

20  Compare  Quinctiliani  Dfdam.  xiii.  p.  272.     'Quod  civea 
pascebat,  nunc  divitis  unius  hortus  est,     ^quatae  solo  villae, 
et  excisa  patria  sacra,  et  cum  conjugibus,  parvisque  liber  is, 
respectantes  patrium  larem  migraverunt  vetercs  coloni,'  <fcc. 

21  good  old  sire]     '  The  good  old  sire!  ' 

v.  Dryden's  Ovid,  vol.  iii.  p.  302. 
And,  '  The  good  old  sire,  unconscious  of  decay ! 

The  modest  matron  clad  in  homespun  gray.' 

v    Threnod.  August. 

4 


50  THE   POEMS 

His  lovely  daughter,  lovelier  in  her  tears, 
The  fond  companion  of  his  helpless  years, 
Silent  went  next,  neglectful  of  her  charms, 
And  left  a  lover's  for  a  father's  arms. 
With  louder  plaints  the  mother  spoke  her  woes, 
And  bless'd  the  cot  where  every  pleasure  rose ; 
And  kiss'd  her  thoughtless  babes  with  many  a  tear, 
And  clasp'd  them  close,  in  sorrow  doubly  dear  ; 
Whilst  her  fond  husband  strove  to  lend  relief 
In  all  the  silent  manliness  of  grief. 

O  Luxury!  thou  curst  by  Heaven's  decree, 
How  ill  exchang'd  are  things  like  these  for  thee ! 
How  do  thy  potions,  with  insidious  joy, 
Diffuse  their  pleasures  only  to  destroy ! 
Kingdoms  by  thee,  to  sickly  greatness  grown, 
Boast  of  a  florid  vigour  not  their  own. 
At  every  draught  more  large  and  large  they  grow, 
A  bloated  mass  of  rank  unwieldy  woe ; 
Till  sapp'd  their  strength,  and  every  part  unsound, 
Down,  down  they  sink,  and  spread  a  ruin  round. 

Even  now  the  devastation  is  begun, 
And  half  the  business  of  destruction  done ; 
Even  now,  methinks,  as  pondering  here  I  stand, 
I  see  the  rural  virtues  leave  the  land. 
Down  where  yon  anchoring  vessel  spreads  the  sail 
That  idly  waiting  flaps  with  every  gale, 
Downward  they  move,  a  melancholy  band, 
Pass  from  the  shore,  and  darken  all  the  strand. 


OF    GOLDSMITH.  51 

Contented  toil,  and  hospitable  care, 
And  kind  connubial  tenderness,  are  there ; 
And  piety  with  wishes  plac'd  above, 
And  steady  loyalty,  and  faithful  love. 
And  thou,  sweet  Poetry,  thou  loveliest  maid, 
Still  first  to  fly  where  sensual  joys  invade ; 
Unfit,  in  these  degenerate  times  of  shame, 
To  catch  the  heart,  or  strike  for  honest  fame ; 
Dear  charming  nymph,  neglected  and  decried, 
My  shame  in  crowds,  my  solitary  pride ; 
Thou  source  of  all  my  bliss  and  all  my  woe, 
That  found'st  me  poor  at  first,  and  keep'st  me  so ; 
Thon  guide,  by  which  the  nobler  arts  excel, 
Thou  nurse  of  every  virtue,  fare  thee  well ! 
Farewell ;  and  oh  !  where'er  thy  voice  be  tried, 
On  Torno's  cliffs,  or  Pambamarca's  side,22 
Whether  where  equinoctial  fervours  glow, 
Or  winter  wraps  the  polar  world  in  snow, 
Still  let  thy  voice,  prevailing  over  time, 
Redress  the  rigours  of  the  inclement  clime ; 
Aid  slighted  truth  with  thy  persuasive  strain ; 
Teach  erring  man  to  spurn  the  rage  of  gain  ; 
Teach  him,  that  states  of  native  strength  possest. 
Though  very  poor,  may  still  be  very  blest ; 
That  trade's  proud  empire  hastes  to  swift  decay, 
As  ocean  sweeps  the  labour'd  mole  away ; 

aa  The  river  Tornea  falls  into  the  Gulf  of  Bothnia.     Pam- 
bamarca  is  a  mountain  near  Quito. — P.  C. 


52  THE    POEMS 

While  self-dependent  power  can  time  defy, 
As  rocks  resist  the  billows  and  the  sky.28 

23  "  Dr.  Johnson  favoured  me  at  the  same  time  by  marking 
the  lines  which  he  furnished  to  Goldsmith's  Deserted  Village, 
which  are  only  the  last  four."  Boswell,  by  Croker,  p.  174. — 
P.O. 


EDWIN  AND  ANGELINA. 

(THE    HERMIT.) 
A   BALLAD. 


"  Written  1764,  and  privately  printed  the  same  year, '  for 
the  amusement  of  the  Countess  of  Northumberland,' — and 
first  published  in  1766,  in  The  Vicar  of  Wakefield,  vol.  i.  pp. 
70-77.  The  text  here  given  is  that  of  The  Vicar  of  Wakefield, 
compared  with  the  poem  as  printed  by  Goldsmith  in  1767,  in 
his  Poems  for  Young  Ladies,  and  the  edition  of  Goldsmith's 
Miscellaneous  Works,  published  in  1801,  under  the  unac- 
knowledged superintendence  of  Bishop  Perry." — CUNNING- 
HAM. 


THE  FOLLOWING  LETTER, 

ADDRESSED   TO  THE  PRINTER  OF  THE   ST.  JAMES'S   CHRON- 
ICLE, APPEARED  IH  THAT  PAPEB  IN  JOLT, 
M.DCC.LXVU. 


SIR,  —  As  there  is  nothing  I  dislike  so  much  as 
newspaper  controversy,  particularly  upon  trifles, 
permit  me  to  be  as  concise  as  possible  in  informing 
a  correspondent  of  yours,  that  I  recommended 
Blainville's  Travels,  because  I  thought  the  book 
was  a  good  one ;  and  I  think  so  still.  I  said, 
I  was  told  by  the  bookseller  that  it  was  then 
first  published ;  but  in  that,  it  seems,  I  was  mis- 
informed, and  my  reading  was  not  extensive 
enough  to  set  me  right. 

Another  correspondent  of  yours  accuses  me  of 
having  taken  a  ballad,  I  published  some  time 
ago,  from  one l  by  the  ingenious  Mr.  Percy.  I 
do  not  think  there  is  any  great  resemblance  be- 
tween the  two  pieces  in  question.  If  there  be 
any,  his  ballad  is  taken  from  mine.  I  read  it  to 
Mr.  Percy  some  years  ago  ;  and  he  (as  we  both 

1  'The  Friar  of  Orders  Gray.'  —  Reliq.  of  Anc.  Poetry,  voL 
i.  p.  243. 


56 

considered  these  things  as  trifles  at  best)  told  me 
with  his  usual  good  humour,  the  next  time  I  saw 
him,  that  he  had  taken  my  plan  to  form  the  frag- 
ments of  Shakespeare  into  a  ballad  of  his  own. 
He  then  read  me  his  little  Cento,  if  I  may  so  call 
it,  and  I  highly  approved  it.  Such  petty  anec- 
dotes as  these  are  scarcely  worth  printing ;  and, 
were  it  not  for  the  busy  disposition  of  some  of 
your  correspondents,  the  public  should  never  have 
known  that  he  owes  me  the  hint  of  his  ballad,  or 
that  I  am  obliged  to  his  friendship  and  learning 
for  communications  of  a  much  more  important 
nature. 

I  am,  Sir,  yours,  &c. 

OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


EDWIN  AND  ANGELINA.1 


*  TURK,  gentle  Hermit  of  the  dale, 

And  guide  my  lonely  way 
To  where  yon  taper  cheers  the  vale 
With  hospitable  ray. 

*  For  here  forlorn  and  lost  I  tread, 

With  fainting  steps  and  slow  ; 
Where  wilds,  immeasurably  spread, 
Seem  lengthening  as  I  go.3 

*  Forbear,  my  son,'  the  Hermit  cries, 

'  To  tempt*the  dangerous  gloom ; 
For  yonder  faithless  phantom  flies 
To  lure  thee  to  thy  doom. 

'  Here  to  the  houseless  child  of  want 

My  door  is  open  still ; 
And  though  my  portion  is  but  scant, 
I  give  it  with  good  will. 

'  Then  turn  to-night,  and  freely  share 

Whate'er  my  cell  bestows ; 
My  rushy  couch  and  frugal  fare, 
My  blessing  and  repose. 

1  See  the  Vicar  of  Wakefield,  cap.  viii. 


58  THE    POEMS 

*  No  flocks  that  range  the  valley  free 

To  slaughter  I  condemn ; 
Taught  by  that  Power  that  pities  me, 
I  learn  to  pity  them : 

*  But  from  the  mountain's  grassy  side 

A  guiltless  feast  I  bring ; 
A  scrip  with  herbs  and  fruits  supplied, 
And  water  from  the  spring. 

'  Then,  pilgrim,  turn,  thy  cares  forego ; 

All  earth-born  cares  are  wrong : 
2  Man  wants  but  little  here  below, 
Nor  wants  that  little  long.' 

Soft  as  the  dew  from  heaven  descends, 

His  gentle  accents  fell : 
.    The  modest  stranger  lowly  bends, 
And  follows  to  the  cell. 

Far  in  a  wilderness  obscure 

The  lonely  mansion  lay ; 
A  refuge  to  the  neighbouring  poor, 

And  strangers  led  astray. 

No  stores  beneath  its  humble  thatch 
Requir'd  a  master's  care : 

*  "  The  running  brook,  the  herbs  of  the  field,  can  amply 
satisfy  nature;  man  wants  but  little,  nor  that  little  long."— 
The  Citizen  of  the  World,  Letter  Ixvii.— P.  C. 

'  Man  wants  but  little,  nor  that  little  long.' 

Young' t  Night  4th. 


OF    GOLDSMITH.  59 

The  wicket,  opening  with  a  latch, 
Receiv'd  the  harmless  pair. 

And  now,  when  busy  crowds  retire 

To  take  their  evening  rest, 
The  Hermit  trimm'd  his  little  fire, 

And  cheer'd  his  pensive  guest; 

And  spread  his  vegetable  store, 

And  gaily  prest  and  smil'd ; 
And,  skill'd  in  legendary  lore, 

The  lingering  hours  beguil'd. 

Around,  in  sympathetic  mirth, 

Its  tricks  the  kitten  tries ; 
The  cricket  chirrups  in  the  hearth ; 

The  crackling  fagot  flies. 

But  nothing  could  a  charm  impart 

To  soothe  the  stranger's  woe ; 
For  grief  was  heavy  at  his  heart, 

And  tears  began  to  flow. 

His  rising  cares  the  Hermit  spied, 

With  answering  care  opprest : 
'  And  whence,  unhappy  youth,'  he  cried, 
'  The  sorrows  of  thy  breast  ? 

*  From  better  habitations  spurn'd, 

Reluctant  dost  thou  rove  ? 
Or  grieve  for  friendship  unreturn'd, 
Or  unregarded  love  ? 


60  THE    POEMS 

*  Alas !  the  joys  that  fortune  brings 

Are  trifling,  and  decay ; 
And  those  who  prize  the  paltry  things, 
More  trifling  still  than  they. 

'  And  what  is  friendship  but  a  name, 

A  charm  that  lulls  to  sleep ; 
A  shade  that  follows  wealth  or  fame, 
But  leaves  the  wretch  to  weep  ? 

'  And  love  is  still  an  emptier  sound, 

The  modern  fair-one's  jest ; 

On  earth  unseen,  or  only  found 

To  warm  the  turtle's  nest. 

'  For  shame,  fond  youth !  thy  sorrows  hush, 

And  spurn  the  sex,'  he  said ; 
But,  while  he  spoke,  a  rising  blush 
His  lovelorn  guest  betray'd. 

Surpris'd,  he  sees  new  beauties  rise, 

Swift  mantling  to  the  view ; 
Like  colours  o'er  the  morning  skies, 

As  bright,  as  transient  too. 

The  bashful  look,  the  rising  breast, 

Alternate  spread  alarms : 
The  lovely  stranger  stands  confest 

A  maid  in  all  her  charms. 


OF    GOLDSMITH.  61 

*  And,  ah !  forgive  a  stranger  rude, 

A  wretch  forlorn,'  she  cried ; 
'  Whose  feet  unhallow'd  thus  intrude 

Where  heaven  and  you  reside. 

'  But  let  a  maid  thy  pity  share, 

Whom  love  has  taught  to  stray ; 
Who  seeks  for  rest,  but  finds  despair 
Companion  of  her  way. 

'  My  father  liv'd  beside  the  Tyne, 

A  wealthy  lord  was  he, 
And  all  his  wealth  was  mark'd  as  mine; 
He  had  but  only  me. 

'  To  win  me  from  his  tender  arms, 

Unnumber'd  suitors  came ; 
Who  prais'd  me  for  imputed  charms, 
And  felt,  or  feign'd,  a  flame. 

'  Each  hour  a  mercenary  crowd 
With  richest  proffers  strove : 
Among  the  rest  young  Edwin  bow'd, 
But  never  talk'd  of  love. 

'  In  humble,  simplest  habit  clad, 
No  wealth  or  power  had  he ; 
Wisdom  and  worth  were  all  he  had, 
But  these  were  all  to  me. 


62  THE   POEM8 

*  *  And  when  beside  me  in  the  dale 

He  caroll'd  lays  of  love, 
His  breath  lent  fragrance  to  the  gale, 
And  music  to  the  grove. 

'  The  blossom  opening  to  the  day, 

The  dews  of  heaven  refin'd, 
Could  nought  of  purity  display 
To  emulate  his  mind. 

'The  dew,  the  blossom  on  the  tree, 

With  charms  inconstant  shine ; 
Their  charms  were  his,  but,  woe  to  me 
Their  constancy  was  mine. 

'  For  still  I  tried  each  fickle  art, 

Importunate  and  vain ; 
And  while  his  passion  touch'd  my  heart, 
I  triumph'd  in  his  pain  : 

*  Till,  quite  dejected  with  my  scorn, 

He  left  me  to  my  pride ; 

And  sought  a  solitude  forlorn, 

In  secret,  where  he  died. 

'  But  mine  the  sorrow,  mine  the  fault, 

And  well  my  life  shall  pay ; 
I'll  seek  the  solitude  he  sought, 
And  stretch  me  where  he  lay. 

8  And  when  brsidt  me]  This  stanza  communicated  by  Richard 
Archdall,  Esq   to  whom  it  was  given  by  Goldsmith. 


OF    GOLDSMITH.  63 

'  And  there  forlorn,  despairing,  hid, 

I'll  lay  me  down  and  die ; 
'Twas  so  for  me  that  Edwin  did, 
And  so  for  him  will  I.' 

'  Forbid  it,  Heaven ! '  the  Hermit  cried, 

And  clasp'd  her  to  his  breast : 
The  wondering  fair  one  turn'd  to  chide,  — 
'Twas  Edwin's  self  that  prest. 

'  Turn,  Angelina,  ever  dear, 
My  charmer,  turn  to  see 
Thy  own,  thy  long-lost  Edwin  here, 
Restor'd  to  love  and  thee. 

*  Thus  let  me  hold  thee  to  my  heart, 

And  every  care  resign : 
And  shall  we  never,  never  part, 
My  life  —  my  all  that's  mine  ? 

1  No,  never  from  this  hour  to  part, 

We'll  live  and  love  so  true : 
The  sigh  that  rends  thy  constant  heart 
Shall  break  thy  Edwin's  too.' 

*  RAIMOND   ET  AMGEHNE. 

'  ENTENS  ma  voix  gemissante, 

Habitant  de  ces  vallons! 
Guide  ma  marche  trernblante, 
Qui  se  perd  dans  les  buissons. 


4  From  'Les  deux  Habitants  de  Lozanne.'     See 
Review,  Sept.  1797,  and  European  Magazine,  1802i! 


f>4  THE   POEMS 

N'est-il  pas  quelque  chaumidre, 
Dans  le  fond  de  ce  reduit, 

Ou  je  vois  une  lumiere 
Percer  1'ombre  de  la  nuit.' 

« Mon  fils,'  dit  le  solitaire- 

« Grains  ce  feu  qui  te  seduit; 
C'est  une  vapeur  legere, 

Elle  egare  qui  le  suit. 
Viens  dans  ma  cellule  obscure: 

Je  I'offrirai  de  bon  coeur, 
Mon  pain  noir,  ma  couche  dure, 

Mon  repos  et  mon  bonheur.' 

Ces  accens  faisant  sourire 

Le  voyageur  attendri, 
Un  secret  penchant  1 'attire 

Vers  le  bienfaisant  abri: 
Un  toil  de  chaume  le  couvre, 

Et  Thermite  hbspitalier 
Pause  au  loquet  qui  les  ouvre 

L'humble  porte  du  foyer. 

Devant  lui  son  chien  folatre, 

Et  partage  sa  ga!t£; 
Le  grillon  chante  dans  1'atre, 

Etincelant  de  clarte. 
Mais  helas!  rien  n'a  de  charmes 

Pour  son  hote  malheureux; 
Rien  no  peut  tenir  les  larmes 

Qui  s'echappent  de  ses  yeux. 

L'hermite  voit  sa  tristesse, 

Et  voudroit  la  soulager, 
D'oi  vient  1'ennui  qui  te  presse1?' 

Dit-il  au  jcune  etranger. 
•Est-ce  uno  amiti6  trahie, 

Est-co  un  amour  dcdaign61 
Ou  la  iniscre  cnnemie 

Qui  te  rende  infortun61 


OF    GOLDSMITH.  65 

'Helas!  tous  les  biens  du  monde 

Sont  peu  dignes  de  nos  voeux; 
Et  1'insense  qui  s'en  confonde 

Est  plus  meprisable  qu'eux. 
L'amitie,  s'il  en  est  uue, 

N'est  qu'une  fantome  imposteur, 
Une  voix  qui  suit  la  fortune, 

Et  s'eloigne  du  malheur. 

'  L'amour  est  plus  vain  encore, 

C'est  un  eclat  emprunte ; 
Un  nom  faux  dont  se  decore 

L'ambitieuse  beaute; 
On  ne  voit  1 'amour  fidelle, 

S'il  daigne  quitter  les  cieux, 
Qu'en  aide  de  la  tourterelle 

Qu'il  echauffc  de  ses  feux. 

'  Ya,  crois-moi,  deviens  plus  sage, 

Meprise  un  sexe  trompeur;' — 
L'hote,  emu  de  ce  laqgage, 

S'embellit  par  sa  rougeur. 
Son  front  ou  la  candour  brille, 

Les  yeux,  sa  bouche,  et  son  sein, 
Font  reconnoitre  une  belle 

Dans  la  charmante  pelerin. 

*  Voyez,'  dit-elle,  '  une  amante, 

Qui  cherche  en  vain  le  repos ; 
Voyez  une  fille  errante, 

Dont  1'amour  cause  les  maux. 
Long-terns,  superbe,  inbumaine, 

Ignorant  la  prix  d'un  coeur, 
A  fuir  une  tendre  chaine 

J'avois  mit  tout  mon  bonheur. 

4  Dans  cette  faute  volage 

Qui  renoit  grossir  mon  occur, 

Raiinond  m'offrit  son  bommage, 

Sans  m'oser  parler  d'amour. 

5 


66  THE   POEMS 

Le  ciel  etoit  dans  son  ame ; 

Le  lis  qui  s'ouvre  au  matin 
N'est  plus  pur  que  la  flamme 

Que  j'allumois  dans  son  sein. 

*  Sa  naissance  etoit  commune, 

Raimond,  sans  bien,  sans  emplol, 
N'avoit  qu'un  coeur  pour  fortune, 

Mais  ce  coeur  fut  tout  &  moi. 
Las  de  mon  ingratitude, 

II  me  quitte  pour  toujours, 
Et  dans  une  solitude 

II  alia  finir  ses  jours. 

« Maintenant  d6sesper6e, 

Vietime  d'un  fol  orgueil, 
Je  m'en  vais  dans  la  contr6e 

Qui  renferme  son  cercueil; 
IA  je  n'ai  plus  d'autre  envie 

Que  de  mourir  k  ses  pieds, 
Payant  des  jours  de  ma  vie 

Ceux  qu'il  m'a  sacrifies.' 

*Non,  non,'  dit  Raimond  lui-mdme, 

En  la  serrant  dans  ses  bras; 
'Non,  celui  qui  ton  ooeur  aime 

N'a  point  subi  le  trepas. 
Regarde,  0  mon  Angeline! 

Cher  object  de  mes  regrets, 
Regarde,  0  fille  divine! 

Get  amant  que  tu  pleurais.' 

Angeline  est  dans  1'ivresse, 

Sa  transport  coupe  sa  voix; 
« Ah! '  dit-elle  avec  tendresse, 

'  Est-oe  toi  que  je  revois  1 
Vivons,  mourons,  1'un  pour  1'autre; 

II  ne  faut  plus  vous  quitter; 
Qu'un  soul  trepas  soit  le  notre; 

Qu'aurons  nous  &  regretterV 


TUB 

HAUNCH   OF  VENISON. 

A   POETICAL    EPISTLE    TO    LOKD    CLARE. 


"  The  Haunch  of  Venison,"  written,  it  is  believed,  in  1771, 
was  first  published  in  1776,  two  years  after  Goldsmith's  death. 
It  is  here  printed  from  the  second  edition,  1776,  containing 
ten  additional  lines  and  numerous  emendations,  said  to  be 
taken  from  the  last  transcript  of  its  author. — CUNNINGHAM. 


THE  Lord  Clare  to  whom  this  poem  is  addressed,  was 
Robert  Nugent  of  Carlanstown,  Westmeath,  created,  1766, 
Viscount  Clare,  and,  in  1776,  Earl  Nugent.  He  died  at 
Dublin,  in  1788,  and  was  buried  at  Gosfield,  in  Essex.  He 
was  a  poet,  and  a  stanza  from  his  Ode  to  Pulteney  has  been 
quoted  by  Gibbon  in  his  character  of  Brutus : — 

"  What !  though  the  good,  the  brave-,  the  wise, 
With  adverse  force  undaunted  rise 

To  break  th'  eternal  doom; 
Though  Cato  liv'd,  though  Tully  spoke, 
Though  Brutus  dealt  the  godlike  stroke, — 

Yet  perished  fatal  Rome." 

He  was  thrice  married;  was  a  big,  jovial,  voluptuous  Irish- 
man, with  a  loud  voice,  a  strong  Irish  accent,  and  a  ready, 
though  coarse  wit. — CUNNINGHAM.  • 

"  The  leading  idea  of  •  Haunch  of  Venison '  is  taken  from 
Boileau's  third  Satire,  (which  itself  was  no  doubt  suggested 
by  Horace's  raillery  of  the  banquet  of  Nasidienus;)  and  two 
or  three  of  the  passages  which  one  would  a  priori  have  pro- 
nounced the  most  original  and  natural,  are  closely  copied 
from  the  French  poet." — CROKEB. 


THE   HAUNCH  OF  VENISON. 


THANKS,  my  lord,  for  your  venison,  for  finer  or 

fatter 

Never  rang'd  in  a  forest,  or  smok'd  in  a  platter ; 
The  haunch  was  a  picture  for  painters  to  study, 
"The  fat  was  so  white,  and  the  lean  was  so  ruddy ; 
Though  my  stomach  was  sharp,  I  could  scarce  help 

regretting 

To  spoil  such  a  delicate  picture  by  eating ; 
I  had  thoughts,  in  my  chambers  to  place  it  in  view, 
To  be  shown  to  my  friends  as  a  piece  of  virtu ; 
As  in  some  Irish  houses,  where  things  are  so-so, 
One  gammon  of  bacon  hangs  up  for  a  show ; 
But,  for  eating  a  rasher  of  what  they  take  pride  in, 
They'd  as  soon  think  of  eating  the  pan  it  is  fried  in. 
But  hold, — let  me  pause, — don't  I  hear  you  pro- 
nounce, 

This  tale  of  the  bacon  a  damnable  bounce  ? 
Well,  suppose  it  a  bounce — sure  a  poet  may  try, 
By  a  bounce,  now  and  then,  to  get  courage  to  fly. 
But,  my  lord,  it's  no  bounce :  I  protest  in  my  turn 
It's  a  truth,  and  your  lordship  may  ask  Mr.  Byrne.1 

1  Lord  Clare's  nephew. 

VARIATIONS  (First  Edition.) 
»  The  white  was  so  white,  and  the  red  was  so  ruddy ! 


70  THE   POEMS 

To  go  on  with  my  tale :  as  I  gaz'd  on  the  haunch, 
I  thought  of  a  friend  that  was  trusty  and  staunch, 
So  I  cut  it,  and  sent  it  to  Reynolds  undrest, 
To  paint  it,  or  eat  it,  just  as  he  lik'd  best 
Of  the  neck  and  the  breast  I  had  next  to  dispose ; 
'Twas  a  neck  and  a  breast  that  might  rival  Monroe's : 
But  in  parting  with  these  I  was  puzzled  again, 
With  the  how,  and  the  who,  and  the  where,  and 

the  when. 

b  There's  Howard,  and  Coley,  and  H — rth,  and  Hiff, 
I  think  they  love  venison — I  know  they  love  beef. 
There's  my  countryman  Higgins  —  oh !  let  him 

alone 

For  making  a  blunder,  or  picking  a  bone. 
But  hang  it — to  poets  "who  seldom  can  eat, 
Your  very  good  mutton 's  a  very  good  treat ; 
Such  dainties  to  them  dtheir  health  it  might  hurt, 
It's  like  sending  them  ruffles,  when  wanting  a  shirt. 

While  thus  I  debated,  in  reverie  center'd 
An  acquaintance,  a  friend  as  he  call'd  himself, 

enter'd ; 

•  An  under-bred,  fine  spoken  fellow  was  he, 
And  he  smil'd  as  he  look'd  at  the  venison  and  me. 

VARIATIONS. 

b  There's  Coley,  and  Williams,  and  Howard,  and  Hiff—, 

c  that 

* It  would  look  like  a  flirt, 

Like  sending  'em  ruffles 

•   A  fine  spoken  customhouse  officer  he, 

Who  smil'd  as  he  gaz'd  on  the  venison  and  me. 


OP    GOLDSMITH.  71 

'  What  have  we  got  here  ?  Why,  this  is  good  eating ! 
Your  own,  I  suppose  —  or  is  it  in  waiting? ' 
'  Why,  whose  should  it  be  ? '  cried  I  with  a  flounce : 
'  I  get  these  things  often ; ' — but  that  was  a  bounce : 
'  Some  lords,  my  acquaintance,  that  settle  the  nation, 
Are  pleas'd  to  be  kind — but  I  hate  ostentation.' 

'If  that  be  the  case,  then,'  cried  he,  very  gay, 
'I'm  glad  I  have  taken  this  house  in  my  way. 
To-morrow  you  take  a  poor  dinner  with  me ; 
No  words  —  I  insist  on't  —  precisely  at  three  : 
We'll  have  Johnson  and  Burke,  all  the  wits  will 

be  there ; 

My  acquaintance  is  slight,  or  I'd  ask  my  lord  Clare. 
And  now  that  I  think  ou't,  as  I  am  a  sinner! 
We  wanted  this  venison  to  f  make  out  the  dinner. 
What  say  you  —  a  pasty  ? — it  shall,  and  it  must, 
And  my  wife,  little  Kitty,  is  famous  for  crust. 
Here,  porter  —  this  venison  with  me  to  Mile-end  ; 
e  No  stirring  —  I  beg  —  my  dear  friend  —  my  dear 
friend ! '  [wind, 

Thus,  h  snatching  his  hat,  he  brush'd  off  like  the 
And  the  porter  and  eatables  follow'd  behind. 

Left  alone  to  reflect,  having  emptied  my  shelf, 

VARIATIONS. 

•  make  up  the  dinner, 


I'll  take  no  denial  —  you  shall,  and  you  must, 
f  No  words,  my  dear  Goldsmith!  my  very  good  friend! 
k  seizing 


72  THE   POEMS 

And  'nobody  with  me  at  sea  but  myself;'2 
Tho'  I  could  not  help  thinking  my  gentleman  hasty, 
Yet  Johnson  and  Burke,  and  a  good  venison  pasty, 
Were  things  that  I  never  dislik'd  in  my  life, 
Though  clogg'd  with  a  coxcomb,  and  Kitty  his  wife. 
So  next  day  in  due  splendour  to  make  my  approach, 
I  drove  to  his  door  in  my  own  hackney-coach. 

When  come  to  the  place  where  we  all  were  to  dine 
(A  chair-lumber'd  closet  just  twelve  feet  by  nine), 
My  friend  bade  me  welcome,  but  struck  me  quite 
dumb  [come ; 

With  tidings  that  Johnson  and  Burke 'would  not 
'  For  I  knew  it,'  he  cried, '  both  eternally  fail, 
The  one  kwith  his  speeches,  and  t'other  withThrale ; 
But  no  matter,  I'll  warrant  we'll  make  up  the  party, 
With  two  full  as  clever,  and  ten  times  as  hearty. 
The  one  is  a  Scotchman,  the  other  a  Jew  ; 
1  They're  both  of  them  merry,  and  authors  like  you ; 
The  one  writes  the  Snarler,  the  other  the  Scourge  ; 
Some  thinks  he  writes  Cinna :  he  owns  to  Panurge.' 
While  thus  he  describ'd  them  by  trade  and  by  name, 
They  enter'd,  and  dinner  was  serv'd  as  they  came. 

*  See  the  letters  that  passed  between  his  Royal  Highness 
Henry  Duke  of  Cumberland,  and  Lady  Grosvenor, — 12mo, 
1769. 

VABIATIOKg. 

'  could 

* at  the  house, 

But,  I  warrant  for  me,  we  shall  make  up  the  party. 
1  Who  dabble  and  write  in  the  papers — like  you. 


OP    GOLDSMITH.  73 

At  the  top,  a  fried  liver  and  bacon  were  seen  ; 
At  the  bottom  was  tripe,  in  a  swingeing  tureen ; 
At  the  sides  there  was  spinage  and  pudding  made 

hot; 

In  the  middle  a  place  where  the  m  pasty — was  not. 
Now,  my  lord,  as  for  tripe,  it's  my  utter  aversion, 
And  your  bacon  I  hate  like  a  Turk  or  a  Persian  ; 
So  there  I  sat  stuck,  like  a  horse  in  a  pound, 
While  the  bacon  and  liver  went  merrily  round : 
But  what  vex'd  me  most  was  that  damn'd  Scottish 

rogue, 
With  his  long-winded  speeches,  his  smiles  and  his 

brogue, 

And, '  Madam/  quoth  he, '  may  this  bit  be  my  poison. 
"  A  prettier  dinner  I  never  set  eyes  on  ; 
Pray  a  slice  of  your  liver,  though,  may  I  be  curst, 
But  I've  eat  of  your  tripe  till  I'm  ready  to  burst.' 
0 '  The  tripe ! '  quoth  the  Jew,  with  his  chocolate 

cheek, 

'  I  could  dine  on  this  tripe  seven  days  in  a  week : 
I  like  these  here  dinners,  so  pretty  and  small ; 
But  your  friend  there,  the  doctor,  eats  nothing  at 

all.' 

4  0 — ho ! '  quoth  my  friend, '  he'll  come  on  in  a  trice, 
He's  keeping  a  corner  for  something  that's  nice  : 


VARIATIONS. 

™  venison 

»  If  a  prettier  dinner  I  ever  set  eyes  on ! 
0  '  Your  tripe ! '  quoth  the  Jew, '  If  the  truth  I  may  speak, 
I  could  eat  of  this  tripe  seven  days  in  the  week.1' 


74  POEMS    OF    GOLDSMITH. 

p  There's  a  pasty' — 'Apasty!'  repeated  the  Jew ; 
I  don't  care  if  I  keep  a  corner  for 't  too.' 
'  What  the  de'il,  mon,  a  pasty ! '  re-echoed  the  Scot ; 
'  Though  splitting,  I'll  still  keep  a  corner  for  that.' 
'  We'll  all  keep  a  corner,'  the  lady  cried  out ; 
'  We'll  all  keep  a  corner,'  was  echo'd  about. 
While  thus  we  resolv'd,  and  the  pasty  delay'd, 
With  looks  q  that  quite  petrified,  enter'd  the  maid : 
A  visage  so  sad,  and  so  pale  with  affright, 
Wak'd  Priam  in  drawing  his  curtains  by  night. 
But  rwe  quickly  found  out,  —  for  who  could  mis- 
take her? —  [baker: 
That  she  came  with  some  terrible  news  from  the 
And  so  it  fell  out,  for  that  negligent  sloven 
Had  shut  out  the  pasty  on  shutting  his  oven. 
Sad  Philomel  thus  —  but  let  similes  drop  — 
And  now  that  I  think  on't,  the  story  may  stop. 
To  be  plain,  my  good  lord,  it's  but  labour  misplac'd 
To  send  such  good  verses  to  one  of  your  taste ; 
You've  got  an  odd  something  —  a  kind  of  dis- 
cerning — 

A  relish  —  a  taste  —  sicken'd  over  by  learning ; 
At  least,  it's  your  temper,  as  very  well  known, 
That  you  think  very  slightly  of  all  that's  your  own : 
So,  perhaps,  in  your  habits  of  thinking  amiss, 
You  may  make  a  mistake,  and  think  slightly  of  this. 

VARIATIONS. 

P  'There's  a  pasty.'    «  A  pasty! '  returned  the  Soot; 

'  I  don't  care  if  I  keep  a  corner  for  thot.' 
t  looks  quite  astonishing 
'  too  soon  we 


RETALIATION. 

A   POEM. 


"As  the  cause  of  writing  the  following  printed  poem  called 
Retaliation,  has  not  yet  been  fully  explained,  a  person  con- 
cerned in  the  business  begs  leave  to  give  the  following  just 
and  minute  account  of  the  whole  affair. 

At  a  meeting  1  of  a  company  of  gentlemen,  who  were  well 
known  to  each  other,  and  diverting  themselves,  among  many 
other  things,  with  the  peculiar  oddities  of  Dr.  Goldsmith, 
who  never  would  allow  a  superior  in  any  art,  from  writing 
poetry  down  to  dancing  a  hornpipe,  the  Dr.  with  great  eager- 
ness insisted  upon  trying  his  epigrammatic  powers  with  Mr. 
Garrick,  and  each  of  them  was  to  write  the  other's  epitaph. 
Mr.  Garrick  immediately  said  that  his  epitaph  was  finished, 
and  spoke  the  following  distich  extempore  : 

Here  lies  Nolly  Goldsmith,  for  shortness  call'd  Noll, 
Who  wrote  like  an  angel,  but  talk'd  like  poor  Poll. 

Goldsmith,  upon  the  company's  laughing  very  heartily,  grew 
very  thoughtful,  and  either  would  not,  or  could  not,  write 
any  thing  at  that  time;  however,  he  went  to  work,  and  some 
weeks  after  produced  the  following  printed  poem  called 
Retaliation,  which  has  been  much  admired,  and  gone  through 
several  editions.  The  publick  in  general  have  been  mistaken 


i  At  the  St.  James's  Coffee-Honse  in  St.  James's  Street. 
See  Art.  'James's  (St.)  Coffee  House,'  in  Cunningham's  Hand- 
Book  of  London,  2d  ed.  1850,  p.  254. 


in  imagining  that  this  poem  was  written  in  anger  by  the 
Doctor;  it  was  just  the  contrary;  the  whole  on  all  sides  was 
done  with  the  greatest  good  humour;  and  the  following 
poems  in  manuscript  were  written  by  several  of  the  gentle- 
men on  purpose  to  provoke  the  Doctor  to  an  answer,  which 
came  forth  at  last  with  great  credit  to  him  in  Retaliation." — 
D.  GAKBICK,  [MS.] 

"  For  this  highly  interesting  account,  (now  first  printed,  or 
even  referred  to  by  any  biographer  or  editor  of  Goldsmith,) 
I  am  indebted  to  my  friend  Mr.  George  Daniel,  of  Islington, 
who_  allowed  me  to  transcribe  it  from  the  original  in  Garrick's 
own  handwriting  discovered  among  the  Garrick  papers,  and 
evidently  designed  as  a  preface  to  a  collected  edition  of  the 
poems  which  grew  out  of  Goldsmith's  trying  his  epigram  • 
matic  powers  with  Garrick.  I  may  observe  also  that  Garrick's 
epitaph  or  distich  on  Goldsmith  is  (through  this  very  paper) 
for  the  first  time  printed  as  it  was  spoken  by  its  author. 

"  Retaliation  was  the  last  work  of  Goldsmith,  and  a  post- 
humous publication — appearing  for  the  first  time  on  the  18th 
or  April,  1774." 

CUNNINGHAM. 


RETALIATION. 


OP  old,  when  Scarron  his  companions  invited, 
Each  guest  brought  his  dish,  and  the  feast  was 

united ; 

If  our  *  landlord  supplies  us  with  beef  and  with  fish, 
Let  each  guest  bring  himself,  and  he  brings  the 

best  dish : 
Our  2dean  shall  be  venison,  just  fresh  from  the 

plains ;  [brains ; 

Our  *  Burke  shall  be  tongue,  with  the  garnish  of 
Our  4  "Will  shall  be  wildfowl,  of  excellent  flavour, 
And  5  Dick  with  his  pepper  shall  heighten  the 

savour :  [tain, 

Our  6  Cumberland's  sweetbread  its  place  shall  ob- 


1  The  master  of  the  St.  James's  Coffee-house,  where  the 
Doctor,  and  the  friends  he  has  characterised  in  this  poem,  oc- 
casionally dined. 

8  Doctor  Barnard,  Dean  of  Deny,  in  Ireland. 

3  Mr.  Edmund  Burke. 

*  Mr.  William  Burke,  late  secretary  to  General  Conway, 
and  member  for  Bed  win. 

5  Mr.  Richard  Burke,  collector  of  Grenada. 

6  Mr.  Richard  Cumberland,  author  of  the  { West  Indian,' 
' Bushionable  LoTer,'   'The   Brothers,'  and  other    dramatic 
pieces. 


78  THE    POEMS 

And  7  Douglas  is  pudding,  substantial  and  plain ; 
Our  8  Garrick  's  a  salad ;  for  in  him  we  see 
Oil,  vinegar,  sugar,  and  saltness  agree : 
To  make  out  the  dinner,  full  certain  I  am 
That  9  Ridge  is  anchovy,  and  10  Reynolds  is  lamb ; 
That  u  Hickey  's  a  capon,  and,  by  the  same  rule, 
Magnanimous  Goldsmith  a  gooseberry  fool. 
At  a  dinner  so  various,  at  such  a  repast, 
Who  'd  not  be  a  glutton,  and  stick  to  the  last  ? 
Here,  waiter,  more  wine !  let  me  sit  while  I'm  able, 
Till  all  my  companions  sink  under  the  table ; 
Then,  with  chaos  and  blunders  encircling  my  head, 
Let  me  ponder,  and  tell  what  I  think  of  the  dead. 

12  Here  lies  the  good  dean,18  reunited  to  earth, 
Who  mixt  reason  with  pleasure,  and  wisdom  with 
mirth: 

1  Doctor  Douglas,  canon  of  Windsor,  an  ingenious  Scotch 
gentleman,  who  has  no  less  distinguished  himself  as  a  citizen 
of  the  world,  than  a  sound  critic,  in  detecting  several  literary 
mistakes  (or  rather  forgeries)  of  his  countrymen;  particularly 
Lander  on  Milton,  and  Bower's  History  of  the  Popes. 

8  David  Garrick,  Esq. 

9  Counsellor  John  Ridge,  a  gentleman  belonging  to  the  Irish 
Bar. 

10  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds. 

u  An  eminent  attorney,  whose  hospitality  and  good  hu- 
mour acquired  him  in  his  club  the  title  of  'honest  Tom 
Hickey.' 

la  Here  lies  the  good  dean]  See  a  poem  by  Dean  Barnard  to 
Sir  J.  Reynolds,  in  Northcote's  Life  of  Reynolds,  p.  130. 

18  Vide  page  77. 


OF    GOLDSMITH.  79 

If  he  had  any  faults,  he  has  left  us  in  doubt, 
At  least  in  six  weeks  I  could  not  find  'em  out ; 
Yet  some  have  declar'd,  and  it  can't  be  denied  'em, 
That  slyboots  was  cursedly  cunning  to  hide  'em. 

Here  lies  our  good  14  Edmund,  whose  genius 

was  such, 

We  scarcely  can  praise  it  or  blame  it  too  much ; 
Who,  born  for  the  universe,  narrow'd  his  mind, 
And  to  party  gave  up  what  was  meant  for  mankind. 
Though  fraught  with  all  learning,  yet  straining  his 

throat  [vote ; 

To  persuade  15  Tommy  Townshend  to  lend  him  a 
Who,  too  deep  for  his  hearers,  still  went  on  refining, 
And  thought  of  convincing,  while  they  thought  of 

dining : 

Though  equal  to  all  things,  for  all  things  unfit ; 
Too  nice  for  a  statesman,  too  proud  for  a  wit ; 
For  a  patriot  too  cool ;  for  a  drudge  disobedient ; 
And  too  fond  of  the  right  to  pursue  the  expedient. 
In  short,  'twas  his  fate,  unemployM  or  in  place,  sir, 
To  eat  mutton  cold,  and  cut  blocks  with  a  razor. 

Here  lies  honest  M  William,  whose  heart  was  a 

mint,  [was  in't ; 

While  the  owner  ne'er  knew  half  the  good  that 

M  Vide  page  77. 

w  Mr.  T.  Townshend,  member  for  "Whitchurch.  —  See  H. 
Walpole's  Letter  to  Lord  Hertford,  p.  6. 
16  Vide  page  77. 


80  THE   POEMS 

The  pupil  of  impulse,  it  forc'd  him  along, 
His  conduct  still  right,  with  his  argument  wrong ; 
Still  aiming  at  honour,  yet  fearing  to  roam, 
The  coachman  was  tipsy,  the  chariot  drove  home : 
Would  you  ask  for  his  merits  ?  alas !  he  had  none ; 
What  was  good  was  spontaneous,  his  faults  were 
his  own. 

Here  lies  honest  Richard,  whose  fate  I  must 

sigh  at; 

Alas  that  such  frolic  should  now  be  so  quiet ! 
What  spirits  were  his !  what  wit  and  what  whim, 
17  Now  breaking  a  jest,  and  now  breaking  a  limb ; 
Now  wrangling  and  grumbling  to  keep  up  the  ball, 
Now  teasing  and  vexing,  yet  laughing  at  all ! 
In  short,  so  provoking  a  devil  was  Dick, 
That  we  wish'd  him  full  ten  times  a  day  at  Old 

Nick; 

But,  missing  his  mirth  and  agreeable  vein, 
As  often  we  wish'd  to  have  Dick  back  again. 

Here  M  Cumberland  lies,  having  acted  his  parts, 
The  Terence  of  England,  the  mender  of  hearts ; 
A  flattering  painter,  who  made  it  his  care 
To  draw  men  as  they  ought  to  be,  not  as  they  are. 

^  Mr.  Richard  Burke  ;  vide  page  77.  This  gentleman 
having  slightly  fractured  one  of  his  arms  and  legs,  at  differ- 
ent times,  the  doctor  has  rallied  him  on  those  accidents,  as 
a  kind  of  retributive  justice  for  breaking  his  jests  upon  other 
people. 

"  Vide  p.  77. 


OF    GOLDSMITH  81 

His  gallants  are  all  faultless,  his  women  divine, 
And  comedy  wonders  at  being  so  fine ; 
Like  a  tragedy  queen  he  has  dizen'd  her  out, 
Or  rather  like  tragedy  giving  a  rout. 
His  fools  have  their  follies  so  lost  in  a  crowd 
Of  virtues  and  feelings,  that  folly  grows  proud ; 
And  coxcombs,  alike  in  their  failings  alone, 
Adopting  his  portraits,  are  pleas'd  with  their  own. 
Say,  where  has  our  poet  this  malady  caught, 
Or  wherefore  his  characters  thus  without  fault  ? 
Say,  was  it  that  vainly  directing  his  view 
To  find  out  men's  virtues,  and  finding  them  few. 
Quite  sick  of  pursuing  each  troublesome  elf, 
He  grew  lazy  at  last,  and  drew  from  himself? 

Here  19  Douglas  retires  from  his  toils  to  relax, 
The  scourge  of  impostors,  the  terror  of  quacks : 
Come,  all  ye  quack  bards,  and  ye  quacking  di- 
vines, 
Come,  and  dance  on  the  spot  where  your  tyrant 

reclines : 

When  satire  and  censure  encircled  his  throne, 
I  fear'd  for  your  safety,  I  fear'd  for  my  own ; 
But  now  he  is  gone,  and  we  want  a  detector, 
Oj^r  ^  Dodds  shall  be  pious,  our  a  Kenricks  shall 
lecture ; 

»  Vide  p.  78. 

20  The  Rev.  Dr.  Dodd. 

21  Dr.  Kenrick,  who  read  lectures  at  the  Devil  Tavern, 
under  the  title  of  «  The  School  of  Shakespeare.' 

6 


82  THE   POEMS 

22  Macpherson  write  bombast,  and  call  it  a  style ; 
Our  **  Townshend  make  speeches,  and  I  shall  com- 
pile ;  [over, 
New  M  Lauders  and  Bowers  the  Tweed  shall  cross 
No  countryman  living  their  tricks  to  discover ; 
Detection  her  taper  shall  quench  to  a  spark, 
25  And  Scotchman  meet  Scotchman,  and  cheat  in 
the  dark. 

Here  lies  x  David  Garrick,  describe  me  who  can, 
An  abridgment  of  all  that  was  pleasant  in  man ; 
As  an  actor,  confest  without  rival  to  shine ; 
As  a  wit,  if  not  first,  in  the  very  first  line : 
Yet,  with  talents  like  these,  and  an  excellent  heart, 
The  man  had  his  failings,  a  dupe  to  his  art. 
Like  an  ill-judging  beauty,  his  colours  he  spread, 
And  beplaster'd  with  rouge  his  own  natural  red. 
On  the  stage  he  was  natural,  simple,  affecting ; 
'Twas  only  that  when  he  was  off,  he  was  acting. 
With  no  reason  on  earth  to  go  out  of  his  way, 
He  turn'd  and  he  varied  full  ten  times  a  day : 
Though  secure  of  our  hearts,  yet  confoundedly  sick 
If  they  were  not  his  own  by  finessing  and  trick. 
He  cast  off  his  friends,  as  a  huntsman  his  pack  ; 
For  he  knew,  when  he  pleas'd,  he  could  whistle 
them  back. 

22  James  Macpherson,  Esq.  who  lately,  from  the  mere  force 
of  his  style,  wrote  down  the  first  poet  of  all  antiquity. 

23  Vide  page  79.         24  Vide  page  78.         26  Vide  page  78. 
25  '  And  gods  meet  gods,  and  jostle  in  the  dark.' 

See  Farquhar'a  Lovt  in  a  Bottle,  vol.  i.  p.  150. 


OF    GOLDSMITH.  83 

Of  praise  a  mere  glutton,  he  swallow'd  what  came, 
And  the  puff  of  a  dunce  he  mistook  it  for  fame  ; 
Till  his  relish  grown  callous,  almost  to  disease, 
Who  pepper'd  the  highest  was  surest  to  please. 
But  let  us  be  candid,  and  speak  out  our  mind, 
If  dunces  applauded,  he  paid  them  in  kind. 
Ye  «  Kenricks,  ye  28  Kellys,  and  »  Woodfalls  so 

grave,  [vou  gave  ! 

What  a  commerce  was  yours,  while  you  got  and 
How  did  Grub-street  re-echo  the  shouts  that  you 

rais'd, 

While  he  was  be-Roscius'd  and  you  were  beprais'd ! 
But  peace  to  his  spirit,  wherever  it  flies, 
To  act  as  an  angel,  and  mix  with  the  skies. 
Those  poets  who  owe  their  best  fame  to  his  skill, 
Shall  still  be  his  flatterers,  go  where  he  will ; 
Old  Shakespeare  receive  him  with  praise  and  with 

love, 
And  Beaumonts  and  Bens  be  his  Kellys  above.80 

27  Vide  page  81. 

28  Mr.  Hugh  Kelly,  author  of  'False  Delicacy,' «  Word  to 
the  Wise,'  '  Clementina,' '  School  for  Wives,'  Ac.  Ac. 

29  Mr.  William  Woodfall,  printer  of  the  Morning  Chronicle. 

30  The  following  poems,  by  Mr.  Garrick,  may  in  some  mea- 
sure account  for  the  severity  exercised  by  Dr.  Goldsmith  in 
respect  to  that  gentleman :  — 

JUPITER      AND      MERCURY. 
A  FABLE. 

HERE,  Hermes,  says  Jove,  who  with  nectar  was  mellow, 

Go  fetch  me  some  clay,  —  I  will  make  an  odd  fellow. 

Right  and  wrong  shall  be  jumbled,  much  gold  and  some  dross; 

Without  cause  be  he  pleas'd,  without  cause  be  he  cross : 


84  THE   POEMS 

Here  n  Hickey  reclines,  a  most  blunt,  pleasant 

creature, 

And  slander  itself  must  allow  him  good  nature ; 
He  cherish'd  his  friend,  and  he  relish'd  a  bumper ; 
Yet  one  fault  he  had,  and  that  one  was  a  thumper. 
Perhaps  you  may  ask  if  the  man  was  a  miser : 
I  answer,  No,  no,  for  he  always  was  wiser. 
Too  courteous,  perhaps,  or  obligingly  flat  ? 
His  very  worst  foe  can't  accuse  him  of  that. 
Perhaps  he  confided  in  men  as  they  go, 
And  so  was  too  foolishly  honest  ?     Ah,  no ! 


Be  sure,  as  I  work,  to  throw  in  contradictions ; 

A  great  lore  of  truth,  yet  a  mind  turn'd  to  fictions. 

Now  mix  these  ingredients,  which,  wann'd  in  the  baking, 

Turn  to  learning  and  gaming;  religion  and  raking. 

With  the  love  of  a  wench,  let  his  writings  be  chaste ; 

Tip  his  tongue  with  strange  matter,  his  pen  with  fine  taste. 

That  the  rake  and  the  poet  o'er  all  may  prevail, 

Set  fire  to  the  head,  and  set  fire  to  the  tail. 

For  the  joy  of  each  sex,  on  the  world  I'll  bestow  it, 

This  scholar,  rake,  Christian,  dupe,  gamester,  and  poet. 

Though  a  mixture  so  odd,  he  shall  merit  great  fame, 

And  among  brother  mortals  be  Goldsmith  his  name. 

When  on  earth  this  strange  meteor  no  more  shall  appear, 

Ton,  Hermes,  shall  fetch  him  to  make  us  sport  here. 


OK  DR.  GOLDSMITH'S  CHARACTERISTICAL  COOKERY. 
A  JEO  D'ESPRIT. 

ARK  these  the  choice  dishes  the  Doctor  has  sent  us? 
IK  this  the  great  poet  whose  works  so  content  us? 
This  Qoldsmith's  fine  feast,  who  has  written  fine  books? 
Heaven  sends  us  good  meat,  but  the  deril  sends  cooks. 

«  Vide  page  78. 


OF    GOLDSMITH.  85 

Then  what  was  his  failing?   come,  tell  it,  and 

burn  ye : 
He  was  —  could  he  help  it?  —  a  special  attorney.. 

Here  82  Reynolds  is  laid,  and,  to  tell  you  my  mind, 
He  has  not  left  a  wiser  or  better  behind. 
His  pencil  was  striking,  resistless,  and  grand ; 
His  manners  were  gentle,  complying,  and  bland : 
Still  born  to  improve  us  in  every  part, 
His  pencil  our  faces,  his  manners  our  heart. 
To  coxcombs  averse,  yet  most  civilly  steering, 
When  they  judg'd  without  skill,  he  was  still  hard 

of  hearing: 
When  they  talk'd  of  their  Raphaels,  Correggios, 

and  stuff, 
He  shifted  his  M  trumpet,  and  only  took  snuff. 

sa  Vide  page  78. 

88  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  was  so  remarkably  deaf  as  to  be 
under  the  necessity  of  using  an  ear-trumpet  in  company.— See 
La  Vie  de  Le  Sage,  p.  xiii.  "  II  faisait  usage  d'un  cornet  qn'il 
appeloit  son  bienfaiteur.  Quand  je  trouve,  disoit-il,  des 
visages  nouveaux,  et  que  j'espere  rencontrer  des  gens  d'esprit, 
je  tire  mon  cornet;  quand  ce  sont  des  sots,  je  le  resserre  et 
je  les  de"fie  de  m'ennuyer." 


86  THE   POEMS 


POSTSCEIPT. 

AFTER  the  fourth  edition  of  this  poem  was  printed,  the  pub- 
lisher received  the  following  epitaph  on  Mr.  Whitefoord,s< 
from  a  friend  of  the  late  Dr.  Goldsmith:  — 

HERE  Whitefbord  reclines,  and  deny  it  who  can, 
Though  he  merrily  liv'd,  he  is  now  a  8S  grave 

man: 

Rare  compound  of  oddity,  frolic,  and  fun ! 
Who  relish'd  a  joke,  and  rejoic'd  in  a  pun ; 
Whose  temper  was  generous,  open,  sincere ; 
A  stranger  to  flattery,  a  stranger  to  fear ; 
Who  scatter'd  around  wit  and  humour  at  will ; 
Whose  daily  bon  mots  half  a  column  might  fill : 
A  Scotchman,  from  pride  and  from  prejudice  free ; 
A  scholar,  yet  surely  no  pedant  was  he. 

What  pity,  alas !  that  so  liberal  a  mind 
Should  so  long  be  to  newspaper  essays  confin'd ! 
Who  perhaps  to  the  summit  of  science  could  soar 
Yet  content '  if  the  table  he  set  in  a  roar ; ' 
Whose  talents  to  fill  any  station  were  fit, 
Yet  happy  if  M  Woodfall  confess'd  him  a  wit. 

**  Mr.  Caleb  Whitefoord,  author  of  many  humorous  essays. 

85  Mr.  W.  was  so  notorious  a  punster,  that  Doctor  Goldsmith 
used  to  say  it  was  impossible  to  keep  him  company,  without 
being  infected  with  the  itch  of  punning. 

»  Mr.  H.  S.  Woodfall,  printer  of  the  Public  Advertiser. 


OF    GOLDSMITH.  87 

Ye  newspaper  witlings !  ye  pert  scribbling  folks! 
Who  copied  his  squibs,  and  re-echoed  his  jokes  ; 
Ye  tame  imitators,  ye  servile  herd,  come, 
Still  follow  your  master,  and  visit  his  tomb : 
To  deck  it,  bring  with  you  festoons  of  the  vine. 
And  copious  libations  bestow  on  hie  shrine ; 
Then  strew  all  around  it  (you  can  do  no  less) 
87  Gross  readings,  ship  news,  and  mistakes  of  the 
press. 

Merry  Whitefoord,  farewell !  for  thy  sake  I  admit 
That  a  Scot  may  have  humour,  I  had  almost  said 

wit: 

This  debt  to  thy  memory  I  cannot  refuse, 
*8 '  Thou  best  humour'd  man  with  the  worst  hu- 

mour'd  muse.' 

37  Mr.  Whitefoord  has  frequently  indulged  the  town  with 
humorous  pieces  under  those  titles  in  the  Public  Advertiser. 
On  C.  Whitefoord,  see  Smith's  Life  of  Nollekens,  vol.  i.  p. 
338 — 340.    See  his  poem  to  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  « Admire 
not,  dear  knight,'  in  Northcote's  Life  of  Reynolds,  p.  128. 
2*  '  When  you  and  Southern,  Moyle,  and  Congreve  meet, 
The  best  good  men,  with  the  best  natured  wit.' 

C.  Hopkins,    v.  Nicholl*'  Col.  Poems,  ii.  p.  207. 


THE    CAPTIVITY. 

AN   ORATORIO. 

IN     THREE     ACTS. 


"  Written  in  1764,  but  never  set  to  music,  or  even  published 
by  its  author.  It  is  here  printed  from  the  original  manu- 
script, in  Goldsmith's  handwriting,  in  the  possession  of  Mr. 
Murray,  of  Albemarle  Street,  compared  with  the  copy  printed 
by  Messrs.  Prior  and  Wright,  in  1837.  I  have  adopted  the 
most  poetical  readings  of  both  copies. 

"  For  this  Oratorio  Goldsmith  received  at  least  ten  guineas. 
In  Mr.  Murray's  collection  is  the  following  receipt  in  Gold- 
smith's handwriting: — 

'  Received  from  Mr.  Dodsley  ten  guineas  for  an  Oratorio, 
•which  he  and  Mr.  Newbery  are  to  share. 

OLIVER  GOLDSMITH.' 
October  31st,  1764. 

"  Mr.  Murray's  MS.  is  the  copy  sold  by  Goldsmith  to  James 

Dodsley." 

P.  C. 


DRAMATIS 


FIRST  ISRAELITISH  PROPHET. 

SECOND  ISRAELITISH  PROPHET. 

ISRAELITISH  WOMAN. 

FIRST  CHALDEAN  PRIEST. 

SECOND  CHALDEAN  PRIEST. 

CHALDEAN  WOMAN. 

CHORUS  OP  YOUTHS  AND  VIRGINS. 

SCENE.  —  The  Banks  of  the  Euphrates,  near  Babylon 
1  The  Dramatis  Persona  is  not  in  the  MS. 


THE  CAPTIVITY. 


ACT  I. 

Scene  I. — ISRAELITES  sitting  on  the  Banks  of  the  Euphrates 

First  PROPHET. 
Recitative. 

YE  captive  tribes,  that  hourly  work  and  weep, 
Where  flows  Euphrates,  murmuring  to  the  deep — 
Suspend  awhile  the  task,  the  tear  suspend, 
And  turn  to  God,  your  father  and  your  friend  : 
Insulted,  chain'd,  and  all  the  world  a  foe, 
Our  God  alone  is  all  we  boast  below. 

Chorus  of  ISRAELITES. 
Our  God  is  all  we  boast  below, 

To  Him  we  turn  our  eyes ; 
And  every  added  weight  of  woe 

Shall  make  our  homage  rise. 

And  though  no  temple  richly  drest, 

Nor  sacrifice  is  here ; 
We'll  make  His  temple  in  our  breast, 

'And  offer  up  a  tear. 


92  THE    POEMS 

Recitative. 

That  strain  once  more :  it  bids  remembrance  rise, 
And  calls  my  long-lost  country  to  mine  eyes. 
Ye  fields  of  Sharon,  dress'd  in  flowery  pride ; 
Ye  plains  where  Jordan  rolls  its  glassy  tide ; 
Ye  hills  of  Lebanon,  with  cedars  crown'd  ; 
Ye  Gilead  groves,  that  fling  perfumes  around  : 
These  hills  how  sweet !   those  plains  how  won- 
drous fair ! 
But  sweeter  still,  when  Heaven  was  with  us  there. 

Air. 
O  Memory,  thou  fond  deceiver  I 

Still  importunate  and  vain ; 
To  former  joys  recurring  ever, 

And  turning  all  the  past  to  pain ; 

Hence,  deceiver,  most  distressing, 
Seek  the  happy  and  the  free ; 

They  who  want  each  other  blessing, 
Ever  want  a  friend  in  thee.1 

First  PROPHET. 

Recitative. 

Yet,  why  repine?  What,  though  by  bonds  confin'd, 
Should  bonds  enslave  the  vigour  of  the  mind  ? 

*  Variation. — "  Thou,  like  the  world,  opprest  oppressing, 
Thy  smiles  increase  the  wretch's  woe; 
And  he  who  wants  each  other  blessing, 
In  thee  mast  ever  find  a  foe." 


OF    GOLDSMITH.  93 

Have  we  not  cause  for  triumph,  when  we  see 
Ourselves  alone  from  idol-worship  free  ? 
Are  not  this  very  day  those  rites  begun, 
Where  prostrate  folly  hails  the  rising  sun  ? 
Do  not  our  tyrant  lords  this  day  ordain 
For  superstitious  rites  and  mirth  profane  ? 
And  should  we  mourn?  Should  coward  Virtue  fly, 
When  impious  Folly  rears  her  front  on  high  ? 
No ;  rather  let  us  triumph  still  the  more, 
And  as  our  fortune  sinks,  our  wishes  soar. 

Air. 

The  triumphs  that  on  vice  attend 
Shall  ever  in  confusion  end  ; 
The  good  man  suffers  but  to  gain, 
And  every  virtue  springs  from  pain : 

As  aromatic  plants  bestow 
No  spicy  fragrance  while  they  grow, 
But  crush'd  or  trodden  to  the  ground, 
Diffuse  their  balmy  sweets  around. 

Second  PROPHET. 

Recitative. 

But  hush,  my  sons !  our  tyrant  lords  are  near ; 
The  sound  of  barbarous  mirth  offends  mine  ear ; 
Triumphant  music  floats  along  the  vale ; 
Near,  nearer  still,  it  gathers  on  the  gale ; 
The  growing  note  their  near  approach  declares  ;— 
Desist,  my  sons,  nor  mix  the  strain  with  theirs. 


94  THE    POEMS 

Enter  CHALDEAN  PKIESTS,  attended. 
First  PRIEST. 

Air. 
Come  on,  my  companions,  the  triumph  display ; 

Let  rapture  the  minutes  employ ; 
The  sun  calls  us  out  on  this  festival  day, 
And  our  monarch  partakes  of  our  joy. 

Second  PRIEST. 
Like  the  sun,  our  great  monarch  all  pleasure  supplies 

Both  similar  blessings  bestow ; 
The  sun  with  his  splendour  illumines  the  skies, 

And  our  monarch  enlivens  below. 

Chaldean  WOMAN. 

Air. 

Haste,  ye  sprightly  sons  of  pleasure  ; 
Love  presents  its  brightest  treasure, 
Leave  all  other  joys  for  me. 

Chaldean  ATTENDANT. 
Or  rather  Love's  delights  despising, 
Haste  to  raptures  ever  rising ; 

Wine  shall  bless  the  brave  and  free. 

Second  PRIEST. 

"Wine  and  beauty  thus  inviting, 
Each  to  different  joys  exciting, 
Whither  shall  my  choice  incline  ? 


OF    GOLDSMITH.  95 

First  PRIEST. 

I'll  waste  no  longer  thought  in  choosing: 
But,  neither  love  nor  wine  refusing, 
I'll  make  them  both  together  mine. 

Recitative. 

But  whence,  when  joy  should  brighten  o'er  the  land, 
This  sullen  gloom  in  Judah's  captive  band  ? 
Ye  sons  of  Judah,  why  the  lute  unstrung  ? 
Or  why  those  harps  on  yonder  willows  hung  ? 
Come,  take  the  lyre,  and  pour  the  strain  along, 
The  day  demands  it ;  sing  us  Sion's  song. 
Dismiss  your  griefs,  and  join  our  warbling  choir ; 
For  who  like  you  can  wake  the  sleeping  lyre  ! 

Second  PROPHET. 

Bow'd  down  with  chains,  the  scorn  of  all  mankind, 
To  want,  to  toil,  and  every  ill  consign'd, 
Is  this  a  time  to  bid  us  raise  the  strain, 
And  mix  in  rites  that  Heaven  regards  with  pain  ? 
No,  never !    May  this  hand  forget  each  art 
That  speeds  the  power  of  music  to  the  heart, 
Ere  I  forget  the  land  that  gave  me  birth, 
Or  join  with  sounds  profane  its  sacred  mirth  ! 

First  PRIEST. 

Insulting  slaves  !   if  gentler  methods  fail, 
The  whip  and  angry  tortures  shall  prevail. 

[Exeunt  CHALDEANS. 


96  THE   POEMS 

First  PROPHET. 

Why,  let  them  come,  one  good  remains  to  cheer ; 
We  fear  the  Lord,  and  know  no  other  fear. 

Chorus. 

Can  whips  or  tortures  hurt  the  mind 
On  God's  supporting  breast  reclin'd  ? 
Stand  fast,  and  let  our  tyrants  see, 

That  fortitude  is  victory. 

[Exeunt 


ACT  H. 

Scene  as  before. 
Chorus  of  ISRAELITES. 
O  Peace  of  Mind,  angelic  guest ! 
Thou  soft  companion  of  the  breast ! 

Dispense  thy  balmy  store. 
Wing  all  our  thoughts  to  reach  the  skies, 
Till  earth,  diminish'd  to  our  eyes? 
Shall  vanish  as  we  soar. 

First  PRIEST. 

Recitative. 

No  more !    Too  long  has  justice  been  delay'd; 
The  king's  commands  must  fully  be  obey'd : 
Compliance  with  his  will  your  peace  secures, 
Praise  but  our  gods,  and  every  good  is  yours. 


OF    GOLDSMITH.  97 

But  if,  rebellious  to  his  high  command, 
You  spurn  the  favours  offer'd  at  his  hand ; 
Think,  timely  think,  what  ills  remain  behind ; 
Reflect,  nor  tempt  to  rage  the  royal  mind. 

Second  PHIEST. 

Air. 
Fierce  is  the  whirlwind  howling 

O'er  Afric's  sandy  plain, 
And  fierce  the  tempest  rolling 
Along  the  furrow'd  main  : 
But  storms  that  fly, 
To  rend  the  sky, 
Every  ill  presaging, 
Less  dreadful  show 
To  worlds  below 
Than  angry  monarch's  raging. 

ISRAELITISH  WOMAN. 

Recitative. 

Ah,  me  !    what  angry  terrors  round  us  grow ; 
How  shrinks  my  soul  to  meet  the  threaten'd  blow  I 
Ye  prophets,  skill'd  in  Heaven's  eternal  truth, 
Forgive  my  sex's  fears,  forgive  my  youth ! 
If  shrinking  thus,  when  frowning  power  appears, 
I  wish  for  life,  and  yield  me  to  my  fears. 
Let  us  one  hour,  one  little  hour  obey ; 
To-morrow's  tears  may  wash  our  stains  away. 
7 


98  THE   POEMS 

Air. 
To  the  last  moment  of  his  breath, 

On  hope  the  wretch  relies ; 
And  even  the  pang  preceding  death 

Bids  expectation  rise.1 

Hope,  like  the  gleaming  taper's  light, 
Adorns  and  cheers  our  way ; 

And  still,  as  darker  grows  the  night, 
Emits  a  brighter  ray.a 

Second  PRIEST. 

Recitative, 

Why  this  delay  ?     At  length  for  joy  prepare ; 
I  read  your  looks,  and  see  compliance  there. 
Come  raise  the  strain  and  grasp  the  full-ton'd  lyre ; 
The  time,  the  theme,  the  place,  and  all  conspire. 


"  The  wretch  condemn'd  with  life  to  part, 

Still,  still  on  hope  relies ; 
And  every  pang  that  rends  the  heart 
Bids  expectation  rise." — Orig.  MS. 

"  Fatigued  with  life,  yet  loth  to  part, 

On  hope  the  wretch  relies; 
And  every  blow  that  sinks  the  heart, 
Bids  the  deluder  rise. 

"  Hope,  like  the  taper's  gleamy  light, 

Adorns  the  wretch's  way; 
And  still,  as  darker  grows  the  night, 
Emits  a  brighter  ray." — Orig.  MS. 


OP   GOLDSMITH.  99 

CHALDEAN  WOMAK. 

Air. 

See  the  ruddy  morning  smiling, 
Hear  the  grove  to  bliss  beguiling ; 
Zephyrs  through  the  valley  playing, 
Streams  along  the  meadow  straying. 

First  PRIEST. 

While  these  a  constant  revel  keep, 
Shall  Reason  only  bid  me  weep  ? 
Hence,  intruder !  we'll  pursue 
Nature,  a  better  guide  than  you. 

Second  PRIEST. 

Air. 

Every  moment,  as  it  flows, 
Some  peculiar  pleasure  owes ; 
Then  let  us,  providently  wise, 
Seize  the  debtor  as  it  flies. 

Think  not  to-morrow  can  repay 
The  pleasures  that  we  lose  to-day ; 
To-morrow's  most  unbounded  store 
Can  but  pay  its  proper  score. 

First  PRIEST. 

Recitative. 

But,  hush !  see  foremost  of  the  captive  choir, 
The  master-prophet  grasps  his  full-ton'd  lyre. 


100  THE   POEMS 

Mark  where  he  sits,  with  executing  art, 
Feels  for  each  tone,  and  speeds  it  to  the  heart. 
See  inspiration  fills  his  rising  form, 
Awful  as  clouds  that  nurse  the  growing  storm ; 
And  now  his  voice,  accordant  to  the  string, 
Prepares  our  monarch's  victories  to  sing. 

First  PROPHET. 

Air. 
From  noVth,  from  south,  from  east,  from  west, 

Conspiring  foes  shall  come  ; 
Tremble  thou  vice-polluted  breast, 
Blasphemers,  all  be  dumb. 

The  tempest  gathers  all  around, 

On  Babylon  it  lies ; 
Down  with  her !  down — down  to  the  ground, 

She  sinks,  she  groans,  she  dies. 

Second  PROPHET. 
Down  with  her,  Lord,  to  lick  the  dust, 

Ere  yonder  setting  sun  ; 
Serve  her  as  she  has  serv'd  the  just ! 

'Tis  fix'd— it  shall  be  done. 

First  PRIEST. 

Recitative. 

No  more !   when  slaves  thus  insolent  presume, 
The  king  himself  shall  judge,  and  fix  their  doom. 


OF    GOLDSMITH.  101 

Short-sighted  wretches  !   have  not  you  and  all, 
Beheld  our  power  in  Zedekiah's  fall  ? 
To  yonder  gloomy  dungeon  turn  your  eyes  ; 
See  where  dethron'd  your  captive  monarch  lies, 
Depriv'd  of  sight  and  rankling  in  his  chain ; 
He  calls  on  Death  to  terminate  his  pain. 
Yet  know,  ye  slaves,  that  still  remain  behind^ 
More  ponderous  chains,  and  dungeons  more  confin'd. 

Chorus. 
Arise,  all  potent  ruler,  rise, 

And  vindicate  thy  people's  cause ; 
Till  every  tongue  in  every  land 
Shall  offer  up  unfeign'd  applause. 

[Exeunt 


ACT  HI. 

/Scene    as    before. 

First  PRIEST. 

Recitative. 

Yes,  my  companions,  Heaven's  decrees  are  past, 
And  our  fix'd  empire  shall  forever  last ; 
In  vain  the  maddening  prophet  threatens  woe, 
In  vain  Rebellion  aims  her  secret  blow  ; 
Still  shall  our  fame  and  growing  power  be  spread, 
And  still  our  vengeance  crush  the  guilty  head. 


102  THE   POEMS 

Air. 

Coeval  with  man 
Our  empire  began, 
And  never  shall  fall 
Till  ruin  shakes  all : 
With  the  ruin  of  all 
.  Shall  Babylon  fall. 

PROPHET. 

Recitative. 

'Tig  thus  that  pride  triumphant  rears  the  head, 
A  little  while,  and  all  her  power  is  fled  ; 
But  ha !   what  means  yon  sadly  plaintive  train, 
That  this  way  slowly  bends  along  the  plain  ? 
And  now,  methinks,  to  yonder  bank  they  bear 
A  pallid  corse,  and  rest  the  body  there. 
Alas  !   loo  well  mine  eyes  indignant  trace 
The  last  remains  of  Judah's  royal  race  : 
Our  monarch  falls,  and  now  our  fears  are  o'er, 
And  wretched  Zedekiah  is  no  more ! 

Air. 
Ye  wretches  who,  by  fortune's  hate, 

In  want  and  sorrow  groan  ; 
Come  ponder  his  severer  fate, 

And  learn  to  bless  your  own. 

You  vain,  whom  youth  and  pleasure  guide, 

Awhile  the  bliss  suspend  ; 
Like  yours,  his  life  began  in  pride, 

Like  his,  your  lives  shall  end. 


OP   GOLDSMITH.  103 

Second  PROPHET. 

Behold  his  squalid  corse  with  sorrow  worn, 
His  wretched  limbs  with  ponderous  fetters  torn  ; 
Those  eyeless  orbs  that  shock  with  ghastly  glare, 
These  ill-becoming  rags — that  matted  hair. 
And  shall  not  Heaven  for  this  its  terrors  show, 
Grasp  the  red  bolt,  and  lay  the  guilty  low  ?  * 
How  long,  how  long,  Almighty  God  of  all, 
Shall  wrath  vindictive  threaten  ere  it  fall ! 

ISRA.ELITISH  WOMAN. 

Air. 
As  panting  flies  the  hunted  hind, 

Where  brooks  refreshing  stray ; 
And  rivers  through  the  valley  wind, 
That  stop  the  hunter's  way. 

Thus  we,  0  Lord,  alike  distrest, 

For  streams  of  mercy  long  ; 
Those  streams  which  cheer  the  sore  opprest, 

And  overwhelm  the  strong. 

First  PROPHET. 
Recitative. 

But,  whence  that  shout  ?    Good  heavens  !  amaze- 
ment all ! 
See  yonder  tower  just  nodding  to  the  fall ; 


1  "And  shall  not  Heaven  for  this  its  terror  show, 

And  deal  its  angry  vengeance  on  the  foe?  " — Orig.  MS, 


104  THE   POEMS 

See  where  an  army  covers  all  the  ground, 
Saps  the  strong  wall,  and  pours  destruction  round ! 
The  ruin  smokes,  destruction  pours  along, 
How  low  the  great,  how  feeble  are  the  strong ! 
The  foe  prevails,  the  lofty  walls  recline — 
O  God  of  hosts,  the  victory  is  Thine  1 

Chorus  of  ISRAELITES. 
Down  with  them,  Lord,  to  lick  the  dust , 

Thy  vengeance  be  begun : 
Serve  them  as  they  have  serv'd  the  just, 

And  let  thy  will  be  done. 

First  PRIEST. 

Recitative. 

All,  all  is  lost.     The  Syrian  army  fails, 
Cyrus,  the  conqueror  of  the  world,  prevails ! 
The  ruin  smokes,  the  torrent  pours  along, — 
How  low  the  proud,  how  feeble  are  the  strong  ! 
Save  us,  O  Lord  !   to  thee,  though  late,  we  pray, 
And  give  repentance  but  an  hour's  delay. 

First  and  Second  PRIEST. 
Thrice  happy,  who  in  happy  hour 

To  heaven  their  praise  bestow, 
And  own  his  all-consuming  power 

Before  they  feel  the  blow. 


OF    GOLDSMITH.  105 

First  PROPHET. 

Recitative. 

Now,  now's  our  time !  ye  wretches  bold  and  blind, 
Brave  but  to  God,  and  cowards  to  mankind  ; 
Too  late  you  seek  that  power  unsought  before, 
Your  wealth,  your  pride,  your  kingdom,  are  no  more. 

Air. 
0  Lucifer,  thou  son  of  morn, 

Alike  of  Heaven  and  man  the  foe  ; 
Heaven,  men,  and  all, 
Now  press  thy  fall, 
And  sink  thee  lowest  of  the  low. 

First  PROPHET. 

O  Babylon,  how  art  thou  fallen  ! 
Thy  fall  more  dreadful  from  delay! 
Thy  streets  forlorn 
To  wilds  shall  turn, 
Where  toads  shall  pant  and  vultures  prey. 

Second  PROPHET. 

Recitative. 

Such  be  her  fate  !     But  listen  !   from  afar 
The  clarion's  note  proclaims  the  finish'd  war. 
Cyrus,  our  great  restorer,  is  at  hand, 
And  this  way  leads  his  formidable  band. 
Give,  give  your  songs  of  Zion  to  the  wind, 
And  hail  the  benefactor  of  mankind  : 


106  THE   POEMS    OP   GOLDSMITH. 

He  comes  pursuant  to  divine  decree, 

To  chain  the  strong,  and  set  the  captive  free. 

Chorus  of  YOUTHS. 
Rise  to  transports  past  expressing, 

Sweeter  from  remember'd  woes  ; 
Cyrus  comes,  our  wrongs  redressing, 

Comes  to  give  the  world  repose. 

Chorus  of  VIRGINS. 
Cyrus  comes,  the  world  redressing, 

Love  and  pleasure  in  his  train ; 
Comes  to  heighten  every  blessing, 

Comes  to  soften  every  pain. 

Semi-  Chorus. 
Hail  to  him  with  mercy  reigning, 

Skill'd  in  every  peaceful  art; 
Who  from  bonds  our  limbs  unchaining, 

Only  binds  the  willing  heart. 

Last  Chorus. 
But  chief  to  Thee,  our  God,  defender,  friend, 

Let  praise  be  given  to  all  eternity ; 
O  Thou,  without  beginning,  without  end. 

Let  us,  and  all,  begin  and  end  in  Thee. 


THRENODIA  AUGUSTALIS. 


108  THE   POEMS 


THRENODIA  AUGUSTALIS.i 

BACHED    TO    THE    MEMORY    OF    HER    LATE    ROYAL    HIGHNESS 

THE  PRINCESS  DOWAGER  OF  WALES. 

SPOKEN  AND  SUNG  IN  THE  GREAT  ROOM  IN  SOHO  SQUARE, 
THUBSDAY,  FEB.  20,  1772. 


ADVERTISEMENT. 

THE  folio-wing  may  more  properly  be  termed  a  compila- 
tion than  a  poem.  It  was  prepared  for  the  composer  in 
little  more  than  two  days  ;  and  may  therefore  rather 
be  considered  as  an  industrious  effort  of  gratitude  than 
of  genius. 

In  justice  to  the  composer,  it  may  likewise  be  right  to 
inform  the  public  that  the  music  was  adapted  in  a  period 
of  time  equally  short. 

SPEAKERS. 

Mil.    LEE    AND   MRS.    BELLAMY. 

SINGERS. 

i 

MR.   CHAMPNES,   MR.   DINE,   AND   MISS  JAMESON. 

The  music  prepared  and  adapted  by  Signer  Vento. 

1  This  poem  was  first  printed  by  Mr.  Chalmers  from  a  copy 
given  by  Goldsmith  to  his  friend,  Joseph  Cradock,  Esq.  of 
Guralcy,  author  of  Zobcido,  itc.,  and  lent  to  Mr.  Chalmers  by 
Mr.  Nicholls.  v.  Br.  Poets,  vol.  xvi.  p.  509. 


OF    GOLDSMITH.  109 


THRENODIA  AUGUSTALIS. 


OVEBTTTBE —  A   SOLEMN   DIRGE.      AIB, —  TEIO. 

ARISE,  ye  sons  of  worth,  arise, 
And  waken  every  note  of  woe  ! 
When  truth  and  virtue  reach  the  skies, 
'Tis  ours  to  weep  the  want  below. 

CHOBTJS. 

When  truth  and  virtue,  &c. 

MAN   SPEAKEB. 

The  praise  attending  pomp  and  power, 
The  incense  given  to  kings, 
Are  but  the  trappings  of  an  hour, 
Mere  transitory  things. 
The  base  bestow  them ;  but  the  good  agree 
To  spurn  the  venal  gifts  as  flattery. 
But  when  to  pomp  and  power  are  join'd 
An  equal  dignity  of  mind  ; 
When  titles  are  the  smallest  claim ; 
When  wealth,  and  rank,  and  noble  blood, 
But  aid  the  power  of  doing  good, 
Then  all  their  trophies  last  —  and  flattery  turns 
to  fame. 


110  THE    POEMS 

Blest  spirit  thou,  whose  fame,  just  born  to  bloom, 
Shall  spread  and  flourish  from  the  tomb, 
How  hast  thou  left  mankind  for  heaven ! 
Even  now  reproach  and  faction  mourn, 
And,  wondering  how  their  rage  was  born, 
Request  to  be  forgiven ! 
Alas !  they  never  had  thy  hate : 
Unmov'd  in  conscious  rectitude, 
Thy  towering  mind  self-centred  stood, 
Nor  wanted  man's  opinion  to  be  great. 
In  vain,  to  charm  thy  ravish'd  sight, 
A  thousand  gifts  would  fortune  send ; 
In  vain,  to  drive  thee  from  the  right, 
A  thousand  sorrows  urged  thy  end : 
Like  some  well-fashion'd  arch  thy  patience  stood, 
And  purchased  strength  from  its  increasing  load ; 
Pain  met  thee  like  a  friend  to  set  thee  free ; 
Affliction  still  is  virtue's  opportunity  I 

SONG.      BY  A  MAN — AFFETCOSO. 

Virtue,  on  herself  relying, 
Every  passion  hush'd  to  rest, 
Loses  every  pain  of  dying 
In  the  hopes  of  being  blest. 
Every  added  pang  she  suffers 
Some  increasing  good  bestows, 
And  every  shock  that  malice  offers 
Only  rocks  her  to  repose. 


OF   GOLDSMITH.  Ill 

WOMAN   8PBAKEB. 

Yet,  ah !  what  terrors  frown'd  upon  her  fate,  — 

Death  with  its  formidable  band, 

Fever,  and  pain,  and  pale  consumptive  care, 

Determined  took  their  stand. 

Nor  did  the  cruel  ravagers  design 

To  finish  all  their  efforts  at  a  blow ; 

But,  mischievously  slow, 

They  robb'd  the  relic  and  defac'd  the  shrine. 

With  unavailing  grief, 

Despairing  of  relief, 

Her  weeping  children  round 

Beheld  each  hour 

Death's  growing  power, 

And  trembled  as  he  frown'd. 

As  helpless  friends  who  view  from  shore 

The  labouring  ship,  and  hear  the  tempest  roar, 

While  winds  and  waves  their  wishes  cross,  — 

They  stood,  while  hope  and  comfort  fail, 

Not  to  assist,  but  to  bewail 

The  inevitable  loss. 

Relentless  tyrant,  at  thy  call 

How  do  the  good,  the  virtuous,  fall  1 

Truth,  beauty,  worth,  and  all  that  most  engage, 

But  wake  thy  vengeance,  and  provoke  thy  rage. 

SONG.      BY  A  MAX  —  BASSO,   STACCATO,   SPDUTUOSO. 

When  vice  my  dart  and  scythe  supply, 
How  great  a  king  of  terrors  I ! 
If  folly,  fraud,  your  hearts  engage, 
Tremble,  ye  mortals,  at  my  rage  I 


112  THE   POEMS 

Fall,  round  me  fall,  ye  little  things, 
Ye  statesmen,  warriors,  poets,  kings  I 
If  virtue  fail  her  counsel  sage, 
Tremble,  ye  mortals,  at  my  rage ! 


MAN    SPEAKER. 


Yet  let  that  wisdom,  urged  by  her  example, 
Teach  us  to  estimate  what  all  must  suffer : 
Let  us  prize  death  as  the  best  gift  of  nature  ; 
As  a  safe  inn,  where  weary  travellers, 
When  they  have journey'd  through  a  world  of  cares, 
May  put  off  life,  and  be  at  rest  for  ever. 
Groans,  weeping  friends,  indeed,  and  gloomy  sa- 
bles, 

May  oft  distract  us  with  their  sad  solemnity : 
The  preparation  is  the  executioner. 
Death,  when  unmask'd,  shows  me  a  friendly  face, 
And  is  a  terror  only  at  a  distance : 
For  as  the  line  of  life  conducts  me  on 
To  Death's  great  court,  the  prospect  seems  more 

fair. 

'Tis  nature's  kind  retreat,  that's  always  open 
To  take  us  in  when  we  have  drain'd  the  cup 
Of  life,  or  worn  our  days  to  wretchedness. 
In  that  secure,  serene  retreat, 
Where  all  the  humble,  all  the  great, 
Promiscuously  recline ; 
Where,  wildly  huddled  to  the  eye, 
The  beggar's  pouch  and  prince's  purple  lie  ; 
May  every  bliss  be  thine  1 


OF    GOLDSMITH.  113 

And  ah !  blest  spirit,  wheresoe'er  thy  flight, 
Through  rolling  worlds,  or  fields  of  liquid  light, 
May  cherubs  welcome  their  expected  guest ; 
May  saints  with  songs  receive  thee  to  their  rest ; 
May  peace,  that  claim'd,  while  here,  thy  warmest 

love,  — 
May  blissful,  endless  peace  be  thine  above ! 

BONO.   BY  A  "WOMAN  —  AMOKOSO. 

Lovely,  lasting  Peace  below, 
Comforter  of  every  woe, 
Heavenly  born,  and  bred  on  high, 
To  crown  the  favourites  of  the  sky, — 
Lovely,  lasting  Peace,  appear! 
This  world  itself,  if  thou  art  here, 
Is  once  again  with  Eden  blest, 
And  man  contains  it  hi  his  breast. 

WOMAN    SPEAKER. 

Our  vows  are  heard !    Long,  long  to  mortal  eyes, 
Her  soul  was  fitting  to  its  kindred  skies : 
Celestial-like  her  bounty  fell, 
Where  modest  want  and  patient  sorrow  dwell ; 
"Want  pass'd  for  merit  at  her  door, 
Unseen  the  modest  were  supplied, 
Her  constant  pity  fed  the  poor,  — 
Then  only  poor,  indeed,  the  day  she  died. 
And  oh !  for  this,  while  sculpture  decks  thy  shrine, 
And  art  exhausts  profusion  round, 
The  tribute  of  a  tear  be  mine, 
8 


114  THE    POEMS 

A  simple  song,  a  sigh  profound. 

1  There  Faith  shall  come,  a  pilgrim  gray, 

To  bless  the  tomb  that  wraps  thy  clay ; 

And  calm  Religion  shall  repair 

To  dwell  a  weeping  hermit  there.  • 

Truth,  Fortitude,  and  Friendship  shall  agree 

To  blend  their  virtues  while  they  think  of  thee. 


AIR.      CHORUS  —  POMPOSO. 


Let  us,  let  all  the  world,  agree, 
To  profit  by  resembling  thee. 


PART  EL 

OVERTURE —  PASTORALE. 
HAN   SPEAKER. 

FAST  by  that  shore  where  Thames'  translucent 

stream 

Reflects  new  glories  on  his  breast, 
Where,  splendid  as  the  youthful  poet's  dream, 
He  forms  a  scene  beyond  Elysium  blest ; 
Where  sculptur'd  elegance  and  native  grace 
Unite  to  stamp  the  beauties  of  the  place ; 
While,  sweetly  blending,  still  are  seen 
The  wavy  lawn,  the  sloping  green ; 

1  These  four  lines,  with  some  alteration,  taken  from  Collins's 
Ode  in  the  year  1746. 


OF    GOLDSMITH.  115 

While  novelty,  with  cautious  cunning, 

Through  every  maze  of  fancy  running, 

From  China  borrows  aid  to  deck  the  scene : 

There,  sorrowing  by  the  river's  glassy  bed, 

Forlorn,  a  rural  band  complain'd. 

2  All  whom  Augusta's  bounty  fed, 

All  whom  her  clemency  sustain'd ; 

The  good  old  sire,  unconscious  of  decay, 

The  modest  matron,  clad  in  homespun  gray, 

The  military  boy,  the  orphan'd  maid, 

The  shatter'd  veteran,  now  first  disinay'd, — 

These  sadly  join  beside  the  murmuring  deep, 

And,  as  they  view  the  towers  of  Kew, 

Call  on  their  mistress,  now  no  more,  and  weep. 

OHORU3  —  AFFETUOSO,    LARGO. 

Ye  shady  walks,  ye  waving  greens, 

Ye  nodding  towers,  ye  fairy  scenes, 

Let  all  your  echoes  now  deplore, 

That  she  who  form'd  your  beauties  is  no  more. 


First  of  the  train  the  patient  rustic  came, 
Whose  callous  hand  had  form'd  the  scene, 
Bending  at  once  with  sorrow  and  with  age, 
With  many  a  tear,  and  many  a  sigh  between 

2  All  that  on  Granta's  fruitful  plain 
Rich  streams  of  regal  bounty  pour'd. 

Gray's  Inst.  Ode,  St.  iv. 


116  THE    POEMS 

'  And  where,'  he  cried,  '  shall  now  my  babes  have 

Or  how  shall  age  support  its  feeble  fire  ?   [bread, 

No  lord  will  take  me  now,  my  vigour  fled, 

Nor  can  my  strength  perform  what  they  require : 

Each  grudging  master  keeps  the  labourer  bare, 

A  sleek  and  idle  race  is  all  their  care. 

My  noble  mistress  thought  not  so  : 

Her  bounty,  like  the  morning  dew, 

Unseen,  though  constant,  used  to  flow, 

And  as  my  strength  decay'd,  her  bounty  grew.' 

WOMAN    SPEAKER. 

In  decent  dress,  and  coarsely  clean, 

The  pious  matron  next  was  seen, 

Clasp'd  in  her  hand  a  godly  book  was  borne, 

By  use  and  daily  meditation  worn ; 

That  decent  dress,  this  holy  guide, 

Augusta's  care  had  well  supplied. 

'  And  ah ! '  she  cries,  all  woebegone, 

'  What  now  remains  for  me  ? 

Oh  !  where  shall  weeping  want  repair 

To  ask  for  charity  ? 

Too  late  in  life  for  me  to  ask, 

And  shame  prevents  the  deed, 

And  tardy,  tardy  are  the  times 

To  succour,  should  I  need. 

But  all  my  wants,  before  I  spoke, 

Were  to  my  mistress  known ; 

She  still  reliev'd,  nor  sought  my  praise, 

Contented  with  her  own. 


OF    GOLDSMITH.  117 

But  every  day  her  name  I'll  bless, 
My  morning  prayer,  my  evening  song ; 
I'll  praise  her  while  my  life  shall  last, 
A  life  that  cannot  last  me  long.' 


SONG —  BY   A   WOMAN. 


Each  day,  each  hour,  her  name  I'll  bless, 
My  morning  and  my  evening  song; 
And  when  in  death  my  vows  shall  cease, 
My  children  shall  the  note  prolong. 

HAN    SPEAKER. 

The  hardy  veteran  after  struck  the  sight, 

Scarr'd,  mangled,  maim'd  in  every  part, 

Lopp'd  of  his  limbs  in  many  a  gallant  fight, 

In  nought  entire — except  his  heart: 

Mute  for  a  while,  and  sullenly  distress'd, 

At  last  the  impetuous  sorrow  fired  his  breast. 

4  Wild  is  the  whirlwind  rolling 

O'er  Afric's  sandy  plain, 

And  wild  the  tempest  howling 

Along  the  billow'd  main : 

But  every  danger  felt  before, 

The  raging  deep,  the  whirlwind's  roar, 

Less  dreadful  struck  me  with  dismay 

Than  what  I  feel  this  fatal  day. 

Oh,  let  me  fly  a  land  that  spurns  the  brave  ! 

Oswego's  dreary  shores  shall  be  my  grave ; 

I'll  seek  that  less  inhospitable  coast, 

And  lay  my  body  where  my  limbs  were  lost.' 


118  THE   POEMS 

80NO.      BY  A  MAN  —  BASSO   SPIMTUOSO. 

*  Old  Edward's  sons,  unknown  to  yield, 
Shall  crowd  from  Cressy's  laurell'd  field, 
To  do  thy  memory  right : 
For  thine  and  Britain's  wrongs  they  feel, 
Again  they  snatch  the  gleamy  steel, 
And  wish  the  avenging  fight. 

WOMAN    SPEAKER. 

In  innocence  and  youth  complaining, 

Next  appear'd  a  lovely  maid ; 

Affliction,  o'er  each  feature  reigning, 

Kindly  came  in  beauty's  aid : 

Every  grace  that  grief  dispenses, 

Every  glance  that  warms  the  soul, 

In  sweet  succession  charm'd  the  senses, 

While  pity  harmonized  the  whole. 

'  The  garland  of  beauty '  ('tis  thus  she  would  say) 

'  No  more  shall  my  crook  or  my  temples  adorn ; 

I'll  not  wear  a  garland,  —  Augusta 's  away,  — 

I'll  not  wear  a  garland  until  she  return. 

But,  alas  !  that  return  I  never  shall  see : 

The  echoes  of  Thames  shall  my  sorrows  proclaim. 

There  promised  a  lover  to  come ;  but,  oh  me ! 

'Twas  death,  'twas  the  death  of  my  mistress,  that 

came. 
But  ever,  for  ever,  her  image  shall  last, 

8  These  lines  altered  from  Collins's  Ode  on  the  Death  of 
Col.  Rosa. 


OP    GOLDSMITH.  ]]  9 

I'll  strip  all  the  spring  of  its  earliest  bloom ; 
On  her  grave  shall  the  cowslip  and  primrose  be 

cast, 
And  the  new-blossom'd  thorn  shall  whiten  her 

tomb.' 

SONG.      BY  A  WOMAN  —  PASTORALE. 

With  garlands  of  beauty  the  Queen  of  the  May 
No  more  will  her  crook  or  her  temples  adorn ; 
For  who'd  wear  a  garland  when  she  is  away, 
When  she  is  remov'd,  and  shall  never  return  ? 

On  the  grave  of  Augusta  these  garlands  be  plac'd, 
We'll  rifle  the  spring  of  its  earliest  bloom, 
And  there  shall  the  cowslip  and  primrose  be  cast, 
And  the  new-blossom'd  thorn  shall  whiten  her 
tomb. 

CHORUS  —  ALTRO    MODO. 

4  On  the  grave  of  Augusta  this  garland  be  plac'd, 
We'll  rifle  the  spring  of  its  earliest  bloom, 
And  there  shall  the  cowslip  and  primrose  be  cast, 
And  the  tears  of  her  country  .shall  water  her 
tomb. 

4  «  Each  opening  sweet  of  earliest  bloom, 
And  rifle  all  the  breathing  spring.' 

Collins'*  Dirge  in  Cymbdine. 


MISCELLANIES. 


OF    GOLDSMITH.  123 


THE  DOUBLE  TRANSFORMATION.* 


SECLUDED  from  domestic  strife, 

Jack  Bookworm  led  a  college  life 

A  fellowship  at  twenty-five 

Made  him  the  happiest  man  alive ; 

He  drank  his  glass,  and  crack'd  his  joke, 

And  freshmen  wonder'd  as  he  spoke." 

Such  pleasures,  unalloy'd  with  care, 
Could  any  accident  impair  ? 
Could  Cupid's  shaft  at  length  transfix 
Our  swain,  arriv'd  at  thirty-six  ? 
Oh,  had  the  archer  ne'er  come  down 
To  ravage  in  a  country  town ; 
Or  Flavia  been  content  lo  stop 
At  triumphs  in  a  Fleet-street  shop  ! 
Oh,  had  her  eyes  forgot  to  blaze ; 
Or  Jack  had  wanted  eyes  to  gazeJ 
Oh ! but  let  exclamation  cease, 

i  Printed  in  Goldsmith's  Essays  (the  xxvi.)  in  1765. 

VARIATIONS. 

•  Without  politeness,  aim'd  at  breeding, 
And  laugh'd  at  pedantry  and  reading. 


124  THE   POEMS 

Her  presence  banish'd  all  his  peace." 

So  with  decorum  all  things  carried ; 

Miss  frown'd,  and  blush'd,  and  then  was — married. 

Need  we  expose  to  vulgar  sight 
The  raptures  of  the  bridal  night  ? 
Need  we  intrude  on  hallow'd  ground, 
Or  draw  the  curtains  clos'd  around  ? 
Let  it  suffice  that  each  had  charms : 
He  clasp'd  a  goddess  in  his  arms ; 
And  though  she  felt  his  usage  °  rough, 
Yet  in  a  man  'twas  well  enough. 

The  honeymoon  like  lightning  flew, 
The  second  brought  its  transports  too ; 
A  third,  a  fourth,  were  not  amiss, 
The  fifth  was  friendship  mix'd  with  bliss : 
But,  when  a  twelvemonth  pass?d  away, 
Jack  found  his  goddess  made  of  clay ; 

Found  half  the  charms  that  deck'd  her  face 

Arose  from  powder,  shreds,  or  lace ; 

VARIATIONS. 

b  Our  altcr'd  parson  now  began 
To  be  a  perfect  ladies'  man ; 
Hade  sonnets,  lisp'd  his  sermons  o'er, 
And  told  the  talcs  he  told  before, 
Of  bailiffs  pump'd,  and  proctors  bit; 
At  college  how  he  show'd  his  wit; 
And,  as  the  fair  one  still  approv'ds 
He  fell  in  love  —  or  thought  he  lov'd. 
c  visage 


OP    GOLDSMITH.  125 

But  still  the  worst  remain'd  behind, 
That  very  face  had  robb'd  her  mind. 

Skill'd  in  no  other  arts  was  she, 
But  dressing,  patching,   repartee; 
And,  just  as  humour  rose  or  fell, 
By  turns  a  slattern  or  a  belle. 
'Tis  true  she  dress'd  with  modern  grace, 
Half-naked  at  a  ball  or  race ; 
But  when  at  home,  at  board  or  bed, 
Five  greasy  nightcaps  wrapp'd  her  head. 
Could  so  much  beauty  condescend 
To  be  a  dull,  domestic  friend  ? 
Could  any  curtain-lectures  bring 
To  decency  so  fine  a  thing? 
In  short,  by  night  'twas  fits  or  fretting ; 
By  day  'twas  gadding  or  coquetting. 
Fond  to  be  seen,  she  kept  a  bevy d 
Of  powder'd  coxcombs  at  her  levee; 
The  'squire  and  captain  took  their  stations, 
And  twenty  other  near  relations ; 
Jack  suck'd  his  pipe,  and  often  broke 
A  sigh  in  suffocating  smoke ;  * 
While  all  their  hours  were  pass'd f  between 
Insulting  repartee  or  spleen. 

VARIATIONS. 

*  Now  tawdry  madam  kept  a  bevy. 

•  She  in  her  turn  became  perplexing, 
And  found  substantial  bliss  in  vexing. 

f  Thus  every  hour  was  pass'd. 


126  THE    POEMS 

Thus  as  her  faults  each  day  were  known,' 
He  thinks  her  features  coarser  grown ; 
He  fancies  every  vice  she  shows 
Or  thins  her  lip,  or  points  her  nose 
"Whenever  rage  or  envy  rise, 
How  wide  her  mouth,  how  wild  her  eyes ! 
He  knows  not  how,  but  so  it  is, 
Her  face  is  grown  a  knowing  phiz ; 
And,  though  her  fops  are  wondrous  civil, 
He  thinks  her  ugly  as  the  devil. 

Now,h  to  perplex  the  ravell'd  noose, 
As  each  a  different  way  pursues, 
While  sullen  or  loquacious  strife 
Promis'd  to  hold  them  on  for  life, 
That  dire  disease,  whose  ruthless  power 
Withers  the  beauty's  transient  flower,  — • 
Lo  !  the  smallpox,  with  horrid  glare, 
LevelTd  its  terrors  at  the  fair ; 
And,  rifling  every  youthful  grace, 
Left  but  the  remnant  of  a  face. 

The  glass,  grown  hateful  to  her  sight, 
Reflected  now  a  perfect  fright : 
Each  former  art  she  vainly  tries 
To  bring  back  lustre  to  her  eyes. 

VARIATIONS. 

f  Each  day  the  more  her  faults  were  known. 
k  Thus. 


OF    GOLDSMITH.  127 

In  vain  she  tries  her  paste l  and  creams, 
To  smooth  her  skin,  or  hide  its  seams ; 
Her  country  beaux  and  city  cousins, 
Lovers  no  more,  flew  off  by  dozens ; 
The  'squire  himself  was  seen  to  yield,  . 
And  e'en  the  captain  quit  the  field. 

Poor  madam  now  condemn'd  to  hack 
The  rest  of  life  with  anxious  Jack, 
Perceiving  others  fairly  flown, 
Attempted  pleasing  him  alone. 
Jack  soon  was  dazzled  to  behold 
Her  present  face  surpass  the  old : 
With  modesty  her  cheeks  are  dyed, 
Humility  displaces  pride ; 
For  tawdry  finery  is  seen 
A  person  ever  neatly  clean ; 
No  more  presuming  on  her  sway, 
She  learns  good-nature  every  day ; 
Serenely  gay,  and  strict  in  duty, 
Jack  finds  his  wife  a  perfect  beauty. 

VARIATION. 

»  pastes. 


128  THE    POEMS 


A  NEW   SIMILE.1 

IK    THE    MANNER    OF    SWIFT. 

*  LONG  had  I  sought  in  vain  to  find 
A  likeness  for  the  scribbling  kind ; 
The  modern  scribbling  kind,  who  write 
In  wit,  and  sense,  and  nature's  spite : 
Till  reading,  I  forget  what  day  on, 
A  chapter  out  of  Tooke's  Pantheon, 
I  think  I  met  with  something  there 
To  suit  my  purpose  to  a  hair. 
But  let  us  not  proceed  too  furious,  — 
First  please  to  turn  to  god  Mercurius : 
You'll  find  him  pictur'd  at  full  length 
In  book  the  second,  page  the  tenth : 
The  stress  of  all  my  proofs  on  him  I  lay, 
And  now  proceed  we  to  our  simile. 

Imprimis,  pray  observe  his  hat, 
Wings  upon  either  side,  —  mark  that. 
"Well !  what  is  it  from  thence  we  gather  ? 
Why,  these  denote  a  brain  of  feather. 

1  Printed  among  the  Essays  (the  ixvii.) 

VARIATIONS. 

•  I  long  had  rack'd  my  brains  to  find. 


OF    GOLDSMITH.  129 

A  brain  of  feather  !  very  right, 
With  wit  that's  flighty,  learning  light ; 
Such  as  to  modern  bard 's  decreed : 
A  just  comparison,  —  proceed. 

In  the  next  place,  his  feet  peruse, 
Wings  grow  again  from  both  his  shoes ; 
Design'd,  no  doubt,  their  part  to  bear, 
And  waft  his  godship  through  the  air: 
And  here  my  simile  unites  ; 
For  in  the  modern  poet's  flights, 
I'm  sure  it  may  be  justly  said, 
His  feet  are  useful  as  his  head. 

Lastly,  vouchsafe  t'  observe  his  hand, 
Fill'd  with  a  snake-encircled  wand, 
By  classic  authors  term'd  caduceus, 
And  highly  fam'd  for    several  uses  : 
To  wit,  —  most  wondrously  endued, 
No  poppy  water  half  so  good ; 
For  let  folks  only  get  a  touch, 
Its  soporific  virtue  '  s  such, 
Though  ne'er  so  much  awake  before, 
That  quickly  they  begin  to  snore. 
Add,  too,  what  certain   writers  tell, 
With  this  he  drives  men's  souls  to  hell. 

Now  to  apply,  begin  we  then  : 
His  wand  's  a  modern  author's  pen; 
The  serpents,  round  about  it  twin'd, 
9 


130  THE   POEMS 

Denote  him  of  the  reptile  kind ; 
Denote  the  rage  with  which  he  writes, 
His  frothy  slaver,  venora'd  bites ; 
An  equal  semblance  still  to  keep, 
Alike,  too,  both  conduce  to  sleep. 
This  difference  only,  as  the  god 
Drove  souls  to  Tartarus  with  his  rod, 
With  his  goosequill  the  scribbling  elf, 
Instead  of  others,  damns  himself. 

And  hero  my  simile  almost  tript, 
Yet  grant  a  word  by  way  of  postscript 
Moreover,  Mercury  had  a  failing : 
Well !  what  of  that  ?  out  with  it  —  stealing ; 
In  which  all  modern  bards  b  agree, 
Being  each  as  great  a  thief  as  he. 
But  e'en  this  deity's  existence 
Shall  lend  my  simile  assistance  : 
Our  modern  bards !  why,  what  a  pox 
Are  they  but  senseless  stones  and  blocks  ? 

VARIATIONS. 

b  our  scribbling  bards 


OF    GOLDSMITH.  131 


THE    LOGICIANS    REFUTED.* 

IN   IMITATION   OP  DEAN   SWIFT. 


LOGICIANS  have  but  ill  defm'd 
As  rational  the  human  mind: 
Reason,  they  say,  belongs  to  man; 
But  let  them  prove  it  if  they  can. 
Wise  Aristotle  and  Smiglecius, 
By  ratiocinations  specious, 
Have  strove  to  prove,  with  great  precision, 
With  definition  and  division, 
Homo  est  ratione  preditum  ; 
But  for  my  soul  I  cannot  credit  'em ; 
And  must  in  spite  of  them  maintain, 
That  man  and  all  his  ways  are  vain ; 
And  that  this  boasted  lord  of  nature 
Is  both  a  weak  and  erring  creature ; 
That  instinct  is  a  surer  guide 
Than  reason,  boasting  mortals'  pride ; 
And  that  brute  beasts  are  far  before  'em ; 
Deus  est  anima  brutorum. 
Who  ever  knew  an  honest  brute 
At  law  his  neighbour  prosecute, 
Bring  action  for  assault  and  battery, 
Or  friend  beguile  with  lies  and  flattery  ? 
i  From  The  Busy  Body,  No.  5. 


132  THE   POEMS 

Oer  plains  they  ramble  unconfin'd, 

No  politics  disturb  their  mind ; 

They  eat  their  meals,  and  take  their  sport, 

Nor  know  who's  in  or  out  at  court. 

They  never  to  the  levee  go 

To  treat  as  dearest  friend  a  foe : 

They  never  importune  his  Grace, 

Nor  ever  cringe  to  men  in  place ; 

Nor  undertake  a  dirty  job, 

Nor  draw  the  quill  to  write  for  Bob.1 

Fraught  with  invective,  they  ne'er  go 

To  folks  at  Paternoster  Row : 

No  judges,  fiddlers,  dancing-masters, 

No  pickpockets  or  poetasters, 

Are  known  to  honest  quadrupeds ; 

No  single  brute  his  fellows  leads. 

Brutes  never  meet  in  bloody  fray, 

Nor  cut  each  others'  throats  for  pay. 

Of  beasts,  it  is  confess'd,  the  ape 

Comes  nearest  us  in  human  shape  ; 

Like  man  he  imitates  each  fashion, 

And  malice  is  his  ruling  passion : 

But,  both  in  malice  and  grimaces, 

A  courtier  any  ape  surpasses. 

Behold  him  humbly  cringing  wait 

Upon  the  minister  of  state ; 

View  him  soon  after  to  inferiors, 

Aping  the  conduct  of  superiors : 

1  Sir  Robert  Walpole. 


OP    GOLDSMITH.  133 

He  promises  with  equal  air, 
And  to  perform  takes  equal  care. 
He  in  his  turn  finds  imitators : 
At  court,  the  porters,  lacqueys,  waiters, 
Their  masters'  manners  still  contract, 
And  footmen  lords  and  dukes  can  act. 
Thus,  at  the  court,  both  great  and  small 
Behave  alike,  for  all  ape  all. 


134  THE   POEMS 


AN  ELEGY   ON  THE  DEATH   OF  A 
MAT>  DOG.l 

GOOD  people  all,  of  every  sort, 

Give  ear  unto  my  song; 
And  if  you  find  it  wondrous  short, 

It  cannot  hold  you  long. 

In  Islington  there  was  a  man 

Of  whom  the  world  might  say, 
That  still  a  godly  race  he  ran, 

Whene'er  he  went  to  pray. 

A  kind  and  gentle  heart  he  had, 

To  comfort  friends  and  foes : 
The  naked  every  day  he  clad, 

When  he  put  on  his  clothes. 

And  in  that  town  a  dog  was  found, 

As  many  dogs  there  be, 
Both  mongrel,  puppy,  whelp,  and  hound, 

And  curs  of  low  degree. 

i  See  Vicar  of  "Wakefield,  c.  xvii. 

In  the  Citizen  of  the  World,  vol.  ii.  lett.  Ixvi.  is  a  paper  on 
the  «  Epidemic  Terror,  the  dread  of  mad  dogs,  which  now  pre- 
vails: the  whole  nation  is  now  actually  groaning  under  the 
malignity  of  its  influence.' 


OF    GOLDSMITH.  135 

This  dog  and  man  at  first  were  friends ; 

But  when  a  pique  began, 
The  dog,  to  gain  his  private  ends, 

Went  mad,  and  bit  the  man. 

Around  from  all  the  neighbouring  streets 

The  wondering  people  ran, 
And  swore  the  dog  had  lost  his  wits, 

To  bite  so  good  a  man. 

The  wound  it  seem'd  both  sore  and  sad 

To  every  Christian  eye ; 
And  while  they  swore  the  dog  was  mad, 

They  swore  the  man  would  die. 

But  soon  a  wonder  came  to  light, 
That  show'd  the  rogues  they  lied; 

The  man  recover'd  of  the  bite ; 
The  doj;  it  was  that  died. 


136  THE   POEMS 


AN  ELEGY  ON  THE  GLORY  OF  HER  SEX, 
MRS.  MARY  BLAIZE.1 

GOOD  people  all,  with  one  accord, 

Lament  for  Madam  Blaize, 
Who  never  wanted  a  good  word  — 

From  those  who  spoke  her  praise. 

The  needy  seldom  pass'd  her  door, 

And  always  found  her  kind: 
She  freely  lent  to  all  the  poor  — 

Who  left  a  pledge  behind. 

She  strove  the  neighbourhood  to  please, 
With  manners  wondrous  winning  ; 

And  never  follow'd  wicked  ways  — 
Unless  when  she  was  sinning. 

At  church,  in  silks  and  satins  new, 

With  hoop  of  monstrous  size, 
She  never  slumber'd  in  her  pew  — 

But  when  she  shut  her  eyes. 

Her  love  was  sought,  I  do  aver, 

By  twenty  beaux  and  more  ; 
The  king  himself  has  follow'd  her  — 

When  she  has  walk'd  before. 

i  See  The  Bee,  No.  IT. 


OF    GOLDSMITH.  137 

But  now,  her  wealth  and  finery  fled, 

Her  hangers-on  cut  short  all ; 
The  doctors  found,  when  she  was  dead  — 

Her  last  disorder  mortal. 

Let  us  lament  in  sorrow  sore ; 

For  Kent-street  well  may-  say, 
That  had  she  liv'd  a  twelvemonth  more  — 

She  had  not  died  to-day.2 

2  This  poem  [as  well  as  the  Elegy  on  the  Death  of  a  Mad 
Dog]  is  an  imitation  of  the  chanson  called  '  Le  fameux  la 
Galisse,  houime  imaginaire,'  in  fifty  stanzas,  printed  in  the 
iliinagiana,  iv.  191: — 

«  Messieurs,  vous  plait-il  d'ouir 
L'air  du  fameux  la  Galisse, 
H  pourra  vous  rejouir, 

Pourvu  qu'il  vous  divertisse 

*  •  *  • 
'  Bien  instruit  dds  le  berceau 

Jamais,  tant  il  fut  honne'te, 
H  se  mettoit  son  chapeau 
Qu'rt  nr  se  couvrit  la  tilt. 

*  *  «  • 
'  On  dit  que  dans  ses  amours 

II  fut  caresse  des  belles, 
Qui  le  suivirent  toujours, 

Tant  qu'il  marcht  dcvant  diet, 

*  *  *  * 
«  H  fut,  par  un  triste  sort, 

Blesse  d'uno  main  cruelle; 
On  croit,  puisqu'il  est  mort, 
Que  la  plaie  6tait  mortelle. 

*  Regrette  de  ses  soldats, 

II  mourut  digne  d'envie, 
Et  le  jour  de  son  trepas 
Fvt  le  dernier  de  sa  vie.' 


138  THE   POEMS 

\ 

THE  CLOWN'S  REPLY. 

JOHN  TROTT  was  desir'd  by  two  witty  peers 
To  tell  them  the  reason  why  asses  had  ears. 
*  An't  please  you,'  quoth  John, '  I'm  not  given  to 

letters, 

Nor  dare  I  pretend  to  know  more  than  my  betters : 
Howe'er,  from  this  time  I  shall  ne'er  see  your 

graces,  — 
As  I  hope  to  be  sav'd!  —  without  thinking  on 

asses.' 

Edinburgh,  1753. 


OF    GOLDSMITH.  139 


ON  A  BEAUTIFUL  YOUTH   STRUCK  BLIND 
BY  LIGHTNING. 

IMITATED   FROM   THE   SPANISH.l 


SORE  'twas  by  Providence  design'd, 
Rather  in  pity  than  in  hate, 

That  he  should  be,  like  Cupid,  blind, 
To  save  him  from  Narcissus'  fate. 


STANZAS  ON  THE  TAKING  OF  QUEBEC.2 

AMIDST  the  clamour  of  exulting  joys, 

Which  triumph  forces  from  the  patriot  heart, 

Grief  dares  to  mingle  her  soul-piercing  voice, 
And  quells  the  raptures  which  from  pleasures 
start. 

0  Wolfe !  to  thee  a  streaming  flood  of  woe, 
Sighing  we  pay,  and  think  e'en  conquest  dear : 

Quebec  in  vain  shall  teach  our  breast  to  glow, 
Whilst  thy  sad  fate  extorts  the  heart-wrung  tear. 

Alive  the  foe  thy  dreadful  vigour  fled, 

And  saw  thee  fall  with  joy-pronouncing  eyes : 

5Tet  they  shall  know  thou  conquerest,  tho'  dead! 
Since  from  thy  tomb  a  thousand  heroes  rise. 

l  See  The  Bee,  No.  i. 

3  First  printed  in  The  Susy  Body,  1759.— P.  C. 


14:0  THE    POEMS 


THE    GIFT 

TO   IBIS,    IN   BOW   8TKBET,   COVENT   GARDEN.1 


SAT,  cruel  Iris,  pretty  rake, 

Dear  mercenary  beauty, 
What  annual  offering  shall  I  make 

Expressive  of  my  duty  ? 

My  heart,  a  victim  to  thine  eyes, 

Should  I  at  once  deliver, 
Say,  would  the  angry  fair  one  prize 

The  gift,  who  slights  the  giver? 

A  bill,  a  jewel,  watch,  or  toy, 
My  rivals  give,  —  and  let  'em : 

If  gems  or  gold  impart  a  joy, 
I'll  give  them  —  when  I  get  'em. 

I'll  give  —  but  not  the  full-blown  rose, 
Or  rosebud,  more  in  fashion  ; 

Such  short-liv'd  offerings  but  disclose 
A  transitory  passion. 

1  See  The  BM,  No.  11. 


OF    GOLDSMITH.  141 

I'll  give  thee  something  yet  unpaid, 

Not  less  sincere  than  civil ; 
I'll  give  thee  —  ah !  too  charming  maid, 

I'll  give  thee  —  to  the  devil.2 

2  This  poem  is  taken  from  Menagiana,  vol.  iv.  200. 
'ETREHNE  A  IRIS. 

'  POUR  temoignage  de  ina  flamme, 
Iris,  du  meilleur  de  inon  ame 
Je  vous  donne  £  ce  nouvel  an, 
Non  pas  dentelle,  ni  ruban, 
Non  pas  essence,  ni  pommade, 
Quelques  boites  de  marmalade, 
Un  mouchoir,  des  gans,  un  bouquet, 
Non  pas  fleures,  ni  chapelet. 
Quoi  dpnc'?  attendez,  je  vous  donne, 
0  fille  plus  belle  que  bonne, 
Qui  m'avez  tou jours  refuse, 
Le  point  si  souvent  propose, 
Je  vous  donne — Ah!  le  puis-je  direl 
Oui:  c'est  trop  souffrir  le  martyre, 
II  est  temps  de  m'emanciper, 
Patience  va  rn'echapper. 
Fussiez  -vous  cent  fois  plus  aimable, 
Belle  Iris,  je  vous  donne  —  au  diable.' 


J42  THE    POEMS 


A  DESCRIPTION  OF  AN  AUTHOR'S 
BEDCHAMBER.* 

WHERE  the  Red  Lion,  staring  o'er  the  way, 
Invites  each  passing  stranger  that  can  pay ; 
Where  Calvert's  butt,  and  Parson's  black  cham- 
pagne, 

Regale  the  drabs  and  bloods  of  Drury-lane ; 
There,  in  a  lonely  room,  from  bailiffs  snug, 
The  Muse  found  Scroggen  stretch'd  beneath  a  rug: 
A  window,  patch'd  with  paper,  lent  a  ray, 
That  dimly  shovv'd  the  state  in  which  he  lay ; 
The  sanded  floor  that  grits  beneath  the  tread ; 
The  humid  wall  with  paltry  pictures  spread ; 
The  royal  game  of  goose  was  there  in  view, 
And  the  twelve  rules  the  royal  martyr  drew ;  * 

1  First  printed  in  The  Citizen  of  the  World,  Letter  xxx., 
and  afterwards  inserted,  with  a  few  variations,  in  The  Deserted 
Village,  1770. — P.  C.     [Sec,  post,  the  extract  from  a  letter  to 
the  Rev.  Henry  Goldsmith.] 

2  Viz:   "1.  Urge  no  healths;    2.  Profane  no  divine  ordi- 
nances;   3.  Touch  no  state  matters;    4.  Reveal  no  secrets; 
6.  Pick  no  quarrels;    6.  Make  no  comparisons;   7.  Maintain 
no  ill  opinions;  8.  Keep  no  bad  company;  9.  Encourage  no 
vice;   10.  Make  no  long  meals;   11.  Repeat  no  grievances 
12.  Lay  no  wagers." — P.  C. 


OP    GOLDSMITH.  143 

The  seasons,  fram'd  with  listing,  found  a  place, 
And  brave  prince  William  8  show'd  his  lampblack 

face. 

The  morn  was  cold ;  he  views  with  keen  desire 
The  rusty  grate  unconscious  of  a  fire  : 
With  beer  and  milk  arrears  the  frieze  was  scor'd, 
And   five   crack'd   teacups  dress'd   the  chimney 

board ; 

A  nightcap  deck'd  his  brows  instead  of  bay, 
A  cap  by  night, — a  stocking  all  the  day ! 

«  William,  Duke  of  Cumberland,  the  hero  of  Culloden,  d. 
1765.— P.  C. 


144  THE   POEMS 


EPITAPH  ON  DR.  PARNELL.i 


THIS  tomb  inscrib'd  to  gentle    Parnell's  name, 
May  speak  our  gratitude,  but  not  his  fame. 
What  heart  but  feels  his  sweetly  moral  lay, 
That  leads  to  truth  thro'  pleasure's  flowery  way  1 
Celestial  themes  confess'd  his  tuneful  aid ; 
And  Heaven,  that  lent  him  genius,  was  repaid. 
Needless  to  him  the  tribute  we  bestow, 
The  transitory  breath  of  fame  below : 
More  lasting  rapture  from  his  works  shall  rise, 
While  converts  thank  their  poet  in  the  skies. 


EPITAPH  ON  EDWARD  PURDON.a 


HERE  lies  poor  Ned  Purdon,  from  misery  freed, 
Who  long  was  a  bookseller's  hack ; 

He  led  such  a  damnable  life  in  this  world, 
I  don't  think  he'll  wish  to  come  back. 

1  From  The  Haunch  of  Venison,  &c.  1776.— P.  C. 

2  This  gentleman  was  educated  at  Trinity  College,  Dublin; 
but,  having  wasted  his  patrimony,  he  enlisted  as  a  foot  soldier. 
Growing  tired  of  that  employment,  he  obtained  his  discharge, 
and  became  a  scribbler  in  the  newspapers.    [This  epitaph  is 
an  imitation  of  the  French,  (La  Mori  du  Sieur  Etienne,)  or 
of  an  epigram  in  Swift's  Miscellanies,  xiii.  372. — FOKSTER.] 


OF    GOLDSMITH.  145 


STANZAS  ON  WOMAN.* 

WHEN  lovely  woman  stoops  to  folly, 
And  finds  too  late  that  men  betray, 

What  charm  can  soothe  her  melancholy  ? 
What  art  can  wash  her  guilt  away  ? 

The  only  art  her  guilt  to  cover, 

To  hide  her  shame  from  every  eye, 

To  give  repentance  to  her  lover, 
And  wring  his  bosom,  is — to  die. 

i  See  Vicar  of  Wakefield,  c.  xxiv. 


10 


146  THE   POEMS 


SONG. 

INTENDED   TO  HAVE   BEEN   ST3NG   IN   THE   COMEDY   OF 
•  SHE   STOOPS   TO    CONQTJEK.' 1 


AH  me !  when  shall  I  marry  me  ? 

Lovers  are  plenty,  but  fail  to  relieve  me. 

He,  fond  yqutb,  that  could  carry  me, 

Offers  to  love,  but  means  to  deceive  me. 

But  I  will  rally,  and  combat  the  ruiner : 

Not  a  look,  not  a  smile  shall  my  passion  discover. 

She  that  gives  all  to  the  false  one  pursuing  her, 

Makes  but  a  penitent,  and  loses  a  lover. 

1  Sir, —  I  send  you  a  small  production  of  the  late  Dr.  Gold- 
smith, which  has  never  been  published,  and  which  might  per- 
haps have  been  totally  lost,  had  I  not  secured  it.  He  intended 
it  as  a  song  in  the  character  of  Miss  Uardcastlc,  in  his  admirable 
comedy  of « She  Stoops  to  Conquer ; '  but  it  was  left  out,  as  Mrs. 
Bulkley,  who  played  the  part,  did  not  sing.  He  sung  it  him- 
self in  private  companies  very  agreeably.  The  tune  is  a  pretty 
Irish  air,  called  '  The  Humours  of  Balamagairy,'  to  which  he 
told  me  he  found  it  very  difficult  to  adapt  words ;  but  he  has 
succeeded  very  happily  in  these  few  lines.  As  I  could  sing 
the  tune,  and  was  fond  of  them,  he  was  so  good  as  to  give  me 
them,  about  a  year  ago,  just  as  I  was  leaving  London,  and 
bidding  him  adieu  for  that  season,  little  apprehending  that  it 
was  a  last  farewell.  I  preserve  this  little  relic,  in  his  own 
handwriting,  with  an  affectionate  care.  —  I  am,  Sir, 

Your  humble  Servant, 

JAMES  BOSWKLI* 


OF    GOLDSMITH.  '147 


A  SONNET.i 

WEEPING,  murmuring,  complaining, 
Lost  to  every  gay  delight ; 

Myra,  too  sincere  for  feigning, 

Fears  th'  approaching  bridal  night 

Yet  why  impair  thy  bright  perfection 
Or  dim  thy  beauty  with  a  tear  ? 

Had  Myra  followed  my  direction, 
She  long  had  wanted  cause  of  fear. 


SONG.2 

THE  wretch  condemn'd  with  life  to  part, 

Still,  still  on  hope  relies  ; 
And  every  pang  that  rends  the  heart 

Bids  expectation  rise. 

Hope,  like  the  glimmering  taper's  light, 

Adorns  and  cheers  the  way ; 
And  still,  as  darker  grows  the  night, 

Emits  a  brighter  ray. 

1  See  The  Bee,  No.  iii.    Imitated  from  the  French  of  Saint 
Pavin,  whose  poems  were  collectively  edited  in  1769. — P.  C. 
*  [See  the  Oratorio  of  The  Captivity.'] 


148  THE   POEMS 


S  O  N  G.i 


O  MEMORY  !  thou  fond  deceiver, 

Still  importunate  and  vain ; 
To  former  joys  recurring  ever, 

And  turning  all  -the  past  to  pain; 

Thou,  like  the  world,  the  opprest  oppressing, 
Thy  smiles  increase  the  wretch's  woe ! 

And  he  who  wants  each  other  blessing, 
In  thee  must  ever  find  a  foe. 

1  See  the  Oratorio  of  The  Captivity, 


OF    GOLDSMITH.  149 


SON  G.I 

LET  schoolmasters  puzzle  their  brain 

With  grammar,  and  nonsense,  and  learning : 
Good  liquor,  I  stoutly  maintain, 

Gives  genus  a  better  discerning. 
Let  them  brag  of  their  heathenish  gods, 

Their  Lethes,  their  Styxes,  and  Stygians ; 
Their  quis,  and  their  quaes,  and  their  quods, 

They're  all  but  a  parcel  of  pigeons. 

Toroddle,  toroddle,  toroll. 

When  methodist  preachers  come  down, 

A  preaching  that  drinking  is  sinful, 
I'll  wager  the  rascals  a  crown, 

They  always  preach  best  with  a  skinful. 
But  when  you  come  down  with  your  pence 

For  a  slice  of  their  scurvy  religion, 
I'll  leave  it  to  all  men  of  sense, 

But  you,  my  good  friend,  are  the  pigeon. 
Toroddle,  toroddle,  toroll. 

Then  come,  put  the  jorum  about, 
And  let  us  be  merry  and  clever ; 

Our  hearts  and  our  liquors  are  stout ; 
Here's  the  Three  Jolly  Pigeons  for  ever. 

i  From  '  She  Stoops  to  Conquer.' 


150  POEMS    OF    GOLDSMITH. 

Let  some  cry  up  woodcock  or  hare, 

Your  bustards,  your  ducks,  and  your  widgeons ; 
But  of  all  the  birds  in  the  air, 

Here's  a  health  to  the  three  jolly  pigeons. 

Toroddle,  toroddle,  toroll. 

NOTE.  —  We  drank  tea  with  the  ladies,  and  Goldsmith  sung 
Tony  Lumpkins'  song  in  his  comedy,  and  a  very  pretty  one,  to 
an  Irish  tune  (The  Humours  of  Ballanagairy),  which  he  had 
designed  for  Miss  Hardcastle  ;  but  as  Mrs.  Eulkley,  who 
played  the  part,  could  not  sing,  it  was  left  out.  He  after- 
wards wrote  it  down  for  me,  by  which  means  it  was  preserved, 
and  now  appears  among  his  poems. 

Johnson,  v.  ii.  p.  217 


OP    GOLDSMITH.  151 

VERSES. 

IN  BEPLT  TO  AN  INVITATION  TO  DINNER  AT  DR.  BAKER'8.1 


"  This  is  a  poem !    This  w  a  copy  of  verses ! " 

YOUR  mandate  I  got, 
You  may  all  go  to  pot ; 
Had  your  senses  been  right, 
You'd  have  sent  before  night ; 
As  I  hope  to  be  saved, 
I  put  off  being  shaved ; 
For  I  could  not  make  bold, 
While  the  matter  was  cold, 
To  meddle  in  suds, 
Or  to  put  on  my  duds ; 
So  tell  Horneck  and  Nesbitt, 
And  Baker  and  his  bit, 
And  Kauffman  beside, 
And  the  Jessamy  bride,2 
With  the  rest  of  the  crew, 
The  Reynoldses  two, 

1  Written  about  the  year  1769,  in  reply  to  an  invitation  to 
dinner  at  Dr.  afterwards  Sir  George  Baker's  (d.  1809,)  to  meet 
the  Misses  Horneck,  Angelica  Kauffman,  Miss  Reynolds,  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds,  and  others.    For  the  above  verses,  first 
published  in  1837,  the. reader  is  indebted  to  Major  General 
Sir  Henry  Bunbury,  Bart.    P.  C. 

2  Miss  Mary  Horneck,  afterwards  Mrs.  Gwyn.    She  died 
in  1840,  aged  88.    P.  C. 


152  THE   POEMS 

Little  Comedy's l  face, 
And  the  Captain  in  lace.2 
(By  the  bye  you  may  tell  him, 
I  have  something  to  sell  him ; 
Of  use  I  insist, 
When  he  comes  to  enlist. 
Your  worships  must  know 
That  a  few  days  ago, 
An  order  went  out 
For  the  foot  guards  so  stout 
To  wear  tails  in  high  taste, 
Twelve  inches  at  least : 
Now  I've  got  him  a  scale 
To  measure  each  tail, 
To  lengthen  a  short  tail, 
And  a  long  one  to  curtail.) — 

Yet  how  can  I  when  vext, 
Thus  stray  from  my  text  ? 
Tell  each  other  to  rue 
Your  Devonshire  crew, 
For  sending  so  late 
To  one  of  my  state. 
But  'tis  Reynolds's  way 
From  wisdom  to  stray, 

1  Miss  Catherine  Horneck,  afterwards  (1771)  Mrs.  Bunbury, 
Her  portrait  by  Sir  Joshua,  one  of  his  finest  works,  is  now  at 
Bowood. 

2  Ensign    (afterwards    General)    Horneck,    son    of   Mrs. 
Horneck,  widow  of  Captain  Kane  Horneck. 


OP    GOLDSMITH.  153 

And  Angelica's  whim 
To  be  frolick  like  him, 
But,  alas  !  your  good  worships,  how  could  they  be 

wiser, 

When  both  have  been  spoil'd  in  to-day's  Adver- 
tiser ? 1 

OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 

l  The  following  is  the  compliment  alluded  to : — 

"  While  fair  Angelica,  with  matchless  grace, 
Paints  Conway's  lovely  form  and  Stanhope's  face; 
Our  hearts  to  beauty  willing  homage  pay, 
We  praise,  admire,  and  gaze  our  souls  away. 
But  when  the  likeness  she  hath  done  for  thee, 
0  Reynolds !  with  astonishment  we  see, 
Forced  to  submit,  with  all  our  pride  we  own, 
Such  strength,  such  harmony  excell'd  by  none, 
And  thou  art  rivall'd  by  thyself  alone." 


154'  THE    POEMS 

LETTER, 

IN  PKOSE  AND   VERSE,  TO  MRS.    BUNBUBY.1 

MADAM  :  I  read  your  letter  with  all  that  allow- 
ance which  critical  candour  could  require,  but 
after  all  find  so  much  to  object  to,  and  so  much  to 
raise  my  indignation,  that  I  cannot  help  giving  it 
a  serious  answer.  I  am  not  so  ignorant,  Madam, 
as  not  to  see  there  are  many  sarcasms  contained 
in  it,  and  solecisms  also,  (solecism  is  a  word  that 
comes  from  the  town  of  Soleis  in  Attica  among 
the  Greeks,  built  by  Solon,  and  applied  as  we  use 
the  word  Kidderminster  for  curtains  from  a  town 
also  of  that  name ;  but  this  is  learning  you  have 
no  taste  for.) — I  say,  Madam,  there  are  sarcasms 
in  it  and  solecisms  also.  But,  not  to  seem  an  ill- 
natured  critic,  I'll  take  leave  to  quote  your  own 
words,  and  give  you  my  remarks  upon  them  as 
they  occur.  You  begin  as  follows : — 

"  I  hope,  my  good  Doctor,  you  soon  mil  be  here, 
And  your  spring  velvet  coat  very  smart  will  appear, 
To  open  our  ball  the  first  day  in  the  year." 

Pray,  Madam,  where  did   you   ever  find  the 

1  See  note  1,  p.  152.  An  invitation  from  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Bnnbury,  in  a  rhyming  and  jocular  strain,  to  spend  some  time 
with  them  at  their  seat  at  Barton  in  Suffolk,  brought  from 
the  Poet  the  above  reply,  printed  for  the  first  time  in  1837 
by  Messrs.  Prior  and  Wright,  though  written  in  1772.  P.  C. 


OF    GOLDSMITH.  155 

epithet  "  good "  applied  to  the  title  of  Doctor  ? 
Had  you  called  me  learned  Doctor,  or  grave 
Doctor,  or  noble  Doctor,  it  might  be  allowable, 
because  they  belong  to  the  profession.  But,  .not 
to  cavil  at  trifles,  you  talk  of  my  spring  velvet 
.  coat,  and  advise  me  to  wear  it  the  first  day  in  the 
year,  that  is  in  the  middle  of  winter ; — a  spring 
velvet  in  the  middle  of  winter  ! ! !  That  would 
be  a  solecism  indeed  ;  and  yet,  to  increase  the  in- 
consistence,  in  another  part  of  your  letter  you  call 
me  a  beau :  now,  on  one  side  or  other,  you  must 
be  wrong.  If  I  am  a  beau,  I  can  never  think  of 
wearing  a  spring  velvet  in  winter;  and  if  I  am 
not  a  beau — why — then — that  explains  itself.  But 
let  me  go  on  to  your  two  next  strange  lines : — 

"  And  bring  with  you  a  wig  that  is  modish  and  gay, 
To  dance  with  the  girls  that  are  making  of  hay." 

The  absurdity  of  making  hay  at  Christmas  you 
yourself  seem  sensible  of;  you  say  your  sister 
will  laugh,  and  so  indeed  she  well  may.  The 
Latins  have  an  expression  for  a  contemptuous 
sort  of  laughter,  Naso  contemnere  adunco  ;  that  is, 
to  laugh  with  a  crooked  nose ;  she  may  laugh  at 
you  in  the  manner  of  the  ancients  if  she  thinks 
fit. — But  now  I  am  come  to  the  most  extraordi- 
nary of  all  extraordinary  propositions,  which  is,  to 
take  your  and  your  sister's  advice  in  playing  at 
loo.  The  presumption  of  the  offer  raises  my  in- 
dignation beyond  the  bounds  of  prose ;  it  inspires 


156  THE    POEMS 

me  at  once  with  verse  and  resentment.     I  take 
advice  !     And  from  whom  ?     You  shall  hear. 

First  let  me  suppose,  what  may  shortly  he  true, 
The  company  set  and  the  word  to  be — loo ; 
All  smirking  and  pleasant  and  big  with  adventure, 
And  ogling  the  stake  which  is  fixed  in  the  centre. 
"Round  and  round  go  the  cards,  while  I  inwardly 

damn, 

At  never  once  finding  a  visit  from  pam ; 
I  lay  down  my  stake  apparently  cool, 
While  the  harpies  about  me  all  pocket  the  pool ; 
I  fret  in  my  gizzard,  get  cautious  and  sly, 
I  wish  all  my  friends  may  be  bolder  than  I ; 
Yet  still  they  sit  snug ;  not  a  creature  will  aim, 
By  losing  their  money,  to  venture  at  fame. 
'Tis  in  vain  that  at  niggardly  caution  I  scold, 
'Tis  in  vain  that  I  flatter  the  brave  and  the  bold ; 
All  play  their  own  way,  and  they  think  me  an  ass ; 
What  does  Mrs.  Bunbury  ?     I,  Sir  ?     I  pass. 
Pray  what  does  Miss  Horneck  ?     Take  courage, 

come,  do  ! 

Who,  I  ?    Let  me  see,  Sir ;  why  I  must  pass  too. 
Mrs.  Bunbury  frets,  and  I  fret  like  the  Devil, 
To  see  them  so  cowardly,  lucky,  and  civil ; 
Yet  still  I  sit  snug,  and  continue  to  sigh  on, 
Till  made  by  my  losses  as  bold  as  a  lion. 
I  venture  at  all ;  while  my  avarice  regards 
The  whole  pool  as  my  own.     Come,  give  me  five 

cards. 


OP    GOLDSMITH.  157 

Well  done  !  cry  the  ladies ;  ah !  Doctor,  that's  good, 
The  pool's  very  rich.     Ah  !  the  Doctor  is  loo'd. 
Thus  foil'd  in  my  courage,  on  all  sides  perplext, 
I  ask  for  advice  from  the  lady  that's  next. 
Pray,  Ma'am,  be  so  good  as  to  give  your  advice ; 
Don't  you  think  the  best  way  is  to  venture  for  't 

•     twice  ? 

I  advise,  cries  the  lady,  to  try  it  I  own  ; 
Ah !  the  Doctor  is  loo'd.  Come  Doctor,  put  down. 
Thus  playing  and  playing  I  still  grow  more  eager, 
And  so  bold  and  so  bold,  I'm  at  last  a  bold  beggar. 
Now,  ladies,  I  ask  if  law  matters  you're  skilled  in, 
Whether  crimes  such  as  yours  should  not  come 

before  Fielding; 

For  giving  advice  that  is  not  worth  a  straw, 
May  well  be  called  picking  of  pockets  in  law ; 
And  picking  of  pockets  with  which  I  now  charge 

ye> 

Is  by  Quinto  Elizabeth,  death  without  clergy. 

What  justice,  when  both  to  the  Old  Bailey  brought! 

By  the  gods  I'll  enjoy  it,  tho'  'tis  but  in  thought ! 

Both  are  placed  at  the  bar  with  all  proper  decorum, 

With  bunches  of  fennel  and  nosegays  before  'em; 

Both  cover  their  faces  with  mobs  and  all  that, 

But  the  Judge  bids  them  angrily  take  off  their  hat. 

When  uncover'd,  a  buzz  of  inquiry  goes  round, 

Pray  what  are  their  crimes  ?  They've  been  pil- 
fering found. 

But,  pray  whom  have  they  pilfer'd  ?  A  Doctor, 
I  hear ; 


158  THE    POEMS 

What,  yon  solemn-faced  odd-looking  man  that 
stands  near  ? 

The  same.  What  a  pity  !  How  does  it  surprise 
one  ! 

Two  handsomer  culprits  I  never  set  eyes  on  ! 

Then  their  friends  all  come  round  me  with  cring- 
ing and  leering, 

To  melt  me  to  pity  and  soften  my  swearing. 

First  Sir  Charles  advances  with  phrases  well 
strung, 

Consider,  dear  Doctor,  the  girls  are  but  young. 

The  younger  the  worse,  I  return  him  again, 

It  shows  that  their  habits  are  all  dyed  in  grain ; 

But  then  they're  so  handsome,  one's  bosom  it 
grieves  : 

What  signifies  handsome  when  people  are  thieves ! 

But  where  is  your  justice  ?  Their  cases  are  hard ; 

What  signifies  justice  ? — I  want  the  reward. 

There's  the  parish  of  Edmonton  offers  forty 
pounds — There's  the  parish  of  St.  Leonard,  Shore- 
ditch,  offers  forty  pounds — There's  the  parish  of 
Tyburn,  from  the  Hog  in  the  Pound  to  St.  Giles's 
Watchhouse,  offers  forty  pounds — I  shall  have  all 
that  if  I  convict  them.— •- 

But  consider  their  case,  it  may  yet  be  your  own, 
And  see  how  they  kneel ;  is  your  heart  made  of 

stone  ? 

This  moves  ;  so  at  last  I  agree  to  relent, 
For  ten  pounds  in  hand  and  ten  pounds  to  be  spent. 


OP    GOLDSMITH.  159 

I  challenge  you  all  to  answer  this.  I  tell  you, 
you  cannot.  It  cuts  deep ;  but  now  for  the  rest 
of  the  letter ;  and  next — but  I  want  room. — So  I 
believe  I  shall  battle  the  rest  out  at  Barton  some 
day  next  week. — I  don't  value  you  all. 

o.  G. 


160  THE   POEMS 


A   PROLOGUE  WRITTEN  AND    SPOKEN  BY 
THE  POET  LABERKTS, 

A  ROMAN  KNIQHT,  WHOM  OESAR  FORCED  UPON  THE  STAGE. 
PRESERVED   BY  MACROBIUS.' 


WHAT  !  no  way  left  to  shun  th'  inglorious  stage, 
And  save  from  infamy  my  sinking  age  ! 
Scarce  half  alive,  oppress'd  with  many  a  year, 
What  in  the  name  of  dotage  drives  me  here  ? 
A  time  there  was,  when  glory  was  my  guide, 
Nor  force  nor  fraud  could  turn  my  steps  aside ; 
Unaw'd  by  power,  and  unappall'd  by  fear, 
With  honest  thrift  I  held  my  honour  dear  : 
But  this  vile  hour  disperses  all  my  store, 
And  all  my  hoard  of  honour  is  no  more ; 
For,  ah !  too  partial  to  my  life's  decline, 
Caesar  persuades,  submission  must  be  mine ; 
Him  I  obey,  whom  Heaven  itself  obeys, 
Hopeless  of  pleasing,  yet  inclin'd  to  please. 
Here  then  at  once  I  welcome  every  shame, 
And  cancel  at  threescore  a  life  of  fame : 


i  This  translation  was  first  printed  in  one  of  our  author's 
earliest  works:  'The  Present  State  of  Polite  Learning  in 
Europe,'  12mo.  1759. 


OF   GOLDSMITH.  161 

No  more  my  titles  shall  my  children  tell, 
The  old  buffoon  will  fit  my  name  as  well ; 
This  day  beyond  its  term  my  fate  extends, 
For  life  is  ended  when  our  honour  ends.2 

2  See  Macrobii  Saturn,  lib.  ii.  c.  vii.  p.  369,  ed.  Zeunii 
Goldsmith  has  translated,  or  rather  imitated,  only  the  first 
fifteen  lines  of  the  Prologus,  ending,  — 

'  Uno  plus  vixi  mihi  quam  vivendum  fuit.' 
I  venture  to  add  the  remainder:  — 

Too  lavish  still,  in  good  or  evil  hour, 
To  show  to  man  the  empire  of  thy  power, 
If,  Fortune,  at  thy  wild  impetuous  sway, 
The  blossoms  of  my  fame  must  drop  away, 
Then  was  the  time  the  obedient  plant  to  strain 
When  life  was  warm  in  every  vigorous  vein, 
To  mould  young  nature  to  thy  plastic  skill, 
And  bend  my  pliant  boyhood  to  thy  will. 
So  might  I  hope  applauding  crowds  to  hear, 
Catch  the  quick  smile,  and  ins  attentive  ear. 
But,  ah!  for  what  hast  thou  reserv'd  my  agel 
Say,  how  can  I  expect  the  approving  stagel 
Fled  is  the  bloom  of  youth  —  the  manly  air—- 
The vigorous  mind  that  spurn'd  at  toil  and  care; 
Gone  is  the  voice,  whose  clear  and  silver  tone 
The  enraptur'd  theatre  would  love  to  own. 
As  clasping  ivy  chokes  the  encumber'd  tree, 
So  age  with  foul  embrace  has  ruin'd  me. 
Thou,  and  the  tomb,  Laberius,  art  the  same, 
Empty  within,  what  hast  thou  but  a  name! 
11 


162  THE   POEMS 

PROLOGUE  TO  ZOBEIDE. 

A    TRAGEDY. 
SPOKEN  BY  MB.    QUICK,   IN  THE    CHARACTER  OF  A   SAILOR. 


IN  these  bold  times,  when  learning's  sons  explore 

The  distant  climates,  and  the  savage  shore ; 

When  wise  astronomers  to  India  steer, 

And  quit  for  Venus  many  a  brighter  here ; 

While  botanists,  all  cold  to  smiles  and  dimpling, 

Forsake  the  fair,  and  patiently — go  simpling ; 

When  every  bosom  swells  with  wondrous  scenes, 

Priests,  cannibals,  and  hoity-toity  queens, 

Our  bard  into  the  general  spirit  enters, 

And  fits  his  little  frigate  for  adventures. 

With  Scythian  stores,  and  trinkets  deeply  laden, 

He  this  way  steers  his  course,  in  hopes  of  trading; 

Yet,  ere  he  lands,  he  has  order'd  me  before 

To  make  an  observation  on  the  shore. 

Where  are  we  driven  ?  our  reckoning  sure  is  lost ! 

This  seems  a  rocky  and  a  dangerous  coast. 

Lord,  what  a  sultry  climate  am  I  under ! 

Yon  ill-foreboding  cloud  seems  big  with  thunder. 

(  Upper  gallery.) 

There  mangroves  spread,  and  larger  than  I've 
seen  'em —  (Pit.) 

Here  trees  of  stately  size — and  turtles  in  'em ; 

(Balconies.) 


OF    GOLDSMITH.  1G3 

Here  ill-conditioned  oranges  abound — 

(Stage.) 
And  apples,  bitter  applesj  strew  the  ground : 

(  Tasting  them.) 

The  place  is  uninhabited  I  fear ; 
I  heard  a  hissing — there  are  serpents  here  ! 
Oh  there  the  natives  are,  a  dreadful  race  ; 
The  men  have  tails,  the  women  paint  the  face. 
No  doubt  they're  all  barbarians. — Yes,  'tis  so ; 
I'll  try  to  make  palaver  with  them  though. 

(Making  signs.) 

'Tis  best,  however,  keeping  at  a  distance. 
"  Good  savages,  our  Captain  craves  assistance. 
Our  ship's  well   stor'd — in  yonder  creek  we've 

laid  her, 

His  honour  is  no  mercenary  trader. 
This  is  his  first  adventure,  lend  him  aid, 
Or  you  may  chance  to  spoil  a  thriving  trade. 
His  goods,  he  hopes,  are  prime,  and  brought  from 

far, 

Equally  fit  for  gallantry  and  war." 
What,  no  reply  to  promises  so  ample  ? 
I'd  best  step  back,  and  order  up  a  sample.1 

1  Zobeide,  a  Tragedy,  by  Joseph  Cradock,  Esq.,  was  first 
represented  at  Covent  Garden,  on  the  10th  of  December,  1771, 
and  was  well  received.  The  text  here  given  is  that  of  the 
third  edition  of  Zobeide,  1772."— P.  C. 


164  THE   POEMS 

EPILOGUE  SPOKEN  BY  MR.  LEE  LEWES, 

TN   THE    CHARACTER  OF   HARLEQUIN, 
AT  HIS   BENEFIT. 

HOLD  !  prompter,  hold !  a  word  before  your  non- 
sense : 

I'd  speak  a  word  or  two,  to  ease  my  conscience. 
My  pride  forbids  it  ever  should  be  said, 
My  heels  eclips'd  the  honours  of  my  head ; 
That  I  found  humour  in  apyebald  vest, 
Or  ever  thought  that  jumping  was  a  jest. 

[  Takes  off  his  mask. 

Whence,  and  what  art  thou,  visionary  birth  ? 
Nature  disowns,  and  reason  scorns,  thy  mirth ; 
In  thy  black  aspect  every  passion  sleeps, 
The  joy  that  dimples,  and  the  woe  that  weeps. 
How  hast  thou  fill'd  the  scene  with  all  thy  brood 
Of  fools  pursuing,  and  of  fools  pursu'd ! 
Whose  ins  and  outs  no  ray  of  sense  discloses ; 
Whose  only  plot  it  is  to  break  our  noses ;  ^ 
Whilst  from  below  the  trapdoor  demons  rise, 
And  from  above  the  dangling  deities : 
And  shall  I  mix  in  this  unhallow'd  crew  ? 
May  rosin'd  lightning  blast  me  if  I  do ! 
No  —  I  will  act,  I'll  vindicate  the  stage : 
Shakespeare  himself  shall  feel  my  tragic  rage. 
Off !  off,  vile  trappings !  a  new  passion  reigns ; 
The  maddening  monarch  revels  in  my  veins. 


OP    GOLDSMITH.  165 

Oh !  for  a  Richard's  voice  to  catch  the  theme : 
'  Give  me  another  horse !  bind  up  my  wounds !  — 

soft  —  'twas  but  a  dream.' 

Ay,  'twas  but  a  dream,  for  now  there  's  no  re- 
treating : 

Jf  I  cease  Harlequin,  I  cease  from  eating. 
'Twas  thus  that  JEsop's  stag,  a  creature  blameless, 
Yet  something  vain,  like  one  that  shall  be  nameless, 
Once  on  the  margin  of  a  fountain  stood, 
And  cavill'd  at  his  image  in  the  flood. 
'  The  deuce  confound/  he  cries, '  these  drumstick 

shanks ! 

They  never  have  my  gratitude  nor  thanks ; 
They  're  perfectly  disgraceful !  strike  me  dead ! 
But  for  a  head,  yes,  yes,  I  have  a  head : 
How  piercing  is  that  eye  !  how  sleek  that  brow  ! 
My  horns  —  I'm  told  horns  are  the  fashion  now.' 
Whilst  thus  he  spoke,  astonish'd,  to  his  view, 
Near,  and  more  near,  the  hounds  and  huntsmen 

drew. 
Hoicks  !  hark  forward ! '  came  thundering  from 

behind : 

He  bounds  aloft,  outstrips  the  fleeting  wind ; 
He  quits  the  woods,  and  tries  the  beaten  ways ; 
He  starts,  he  pants,  he  takes  the  circling  maze. 
At  length  his  silly  head,  so  priz'd  before, 
Is  taught  his  former  folly  to  deplore ; 
Whilst  his  strong  limbs  conspire  to  set  him  free, 
And  at  one  bound  he  saves  himself  —  like  me. 
[  leaking  a  jump  through  the  stage-door. 


166  THE   POEMS 


EPILOGUE  TO  THE  COMEDY  OF  THE 
SISTER.1 

WHAT  ?  five  long  acts — and  all  to  make  us  wiser ! 
Our  authoress  sure  has  wanted  an  adviser. 
Had  she  consulted  me,  she  should  have  made 
Her  moral  play  a  speaking  masquerade ; 
Warm'd  up  each  bustling  scene,  and,  in  her  rage, 
Have  emptied  all  the  green  room  on  the  stage. 
My  life  on't,  this  had  kept  her  play  from  sinking ; 
Have  pleas'd  our  eyes,  and  sav'd  the  pain  of 

thinking. 

Well,  since  she  thus  has  shown  her  want  of  skill, 
"What  if  I  give  a  masquerade  ?  —  I  will. 
But  how?  ay,  there's  the  rub  !  \_pausing~\ — I've 

got  my  cue : 
The  world  's  a  masquerade !  the  masquers,  you, 

you,  you.      \_To  Boxes,  Pit,  and  Gallery. 
Lud !  what  a  group  the  motley  scene  discloses ! 
False  wits,  false  wives,  false  virgins,  and  false 

spouses ! 

Statesmen  with  bridles  on;  and,  close  beside  'em, 
Patriots  in  party-colour'd  suits  that  ride  'em. 

1  The  Sister]  A  comedy  by  Mrs.  Charlotte  Lennox,  17C9, 
taken  from  the  authoress's  own  novel,  '  Henrietta.'  It  wag 
performed  only  one  night.  The  author  of  the  Bingraphia 
Dramatica  says  that  «  this  epilogue  is  the  best  that  has 
appeared  the  last  thirty  years.' 


OP   GOLDSMITH.  16? 

There  Hebes,  tum'd  of  fifty,  try  once  more 
To  raise  a  flame  in  Cupids  of  threescore ; 
These  in  their  turn,  with  appetites  as  keen, 
Deserting  fifty,  fasten  on  fifteen. 
Miss,  not  yet  full  fifteen,  with  fire  uncommon, 
Flings  down  her  sampler,  and  takes  up  the  woman ; 
The  little  urchin  smiles,  and  spreads  her  lure, 
And  tries  to  kill,  ere  she's  got  power  to  cure. 
Thus  'tis  with  all :  their  chief  and  constant  care 
Is  to  seem  every  thing  —  but  what  they  are. 
Yon  broad,  bold,  angry  spark,  I  fix  my  eye  on, 
Who  seems  to  have  robb'd  his  vizor  from  the  lion ; 
Who  frowns,  and  talks,  and  swears,  with  round 

parade, 
Looking,  as  who  should  say,  —  Dam'me !  who's 

afraid?  [Mimicking. 

Strip  but  this  vizor  off,  and  sure  I  am 
You'll  find  his  lionship  a  very  lamb. 
Yon  politician,  famous  in  debate, 
Perhaps,  to  vulgar  eyes,  bestrides  the  state ; 
Yet,  when  he  deigns  his  real  shape  t'  assume, 
He  turns  old  woman,  and  bestrides  a  broom. 
Yon  patriot,  too,  who  presses  on  your  sight, 
And  seems,  to  every  gazer,  all  in  white, 
If  with  a  bribe  his  candour  you  attack,      [black ! 
He  bows,  turns  round,  and  whip  —  the  man's  in 
Yon  critic,  too,  —  but  whither  do  I  run? 
If  I  proceed,  our  bard  will  be  undone ! 
Well,  then,  a  truce,  since  she  requests  it  too : 
Do  you  spare  her,  and  I'll  for  once  spare  you. 


168  THE    POEMS 


EPILOGUE  TO  THE  GOOD-NATURED  MAN.' 

SPOKEN  BY  MKS.   BULKLET. 


As  puffing  quacks  some  caitiff  wretch  procure 
To  swear  the  pill,  or  drop,  has  wrought  a  cure, 
Thus,  on  the  stage,  our  playwrights  still  depend 
For  Epilogues  and  Prologues  on  some  friend, 
Who  knows  each  art  of  coaxing  up  the  town, 
And  makes  full  many  a  bitter  pill  go  down. 
Conscious  of  this,  our  bard  has  gone  about, 
And  teas'd  each  rhyming  friend  to  help  him  out. 
'An  Epilogue, — things  can't  go  on  without  it ; 
It  could  not  fail,  would  you  but  set  about  it.' 
'  Young  man,'  cries  one,  (a  bard  laid  up  in  clover,) 
'Alas,  young  man,  my  writing  days  are  over ; 
Let  boys  play  tricks,  and  kick  the  straw,  not  I ; 
Your  brother  Doctor  there,  perhaps,  may  try.' 
'  What,  I !  dear  Sir,'  the  Doctor  interposes ; 
'  What,  plant  my  thistle,  Sir,  among  his  roses  ! 
No,  no,  I've  other  contests  to  maintain ; 
To-night  I  head  our  troops  at  Warwick-lane.2 

1  The  author,  in  expectation  of  an  Epilogue  from  a  friend 
at  Oxford,  deferred  writing  one  himself  till  the  very  last  hour. 
What  is  here  offered  owes  all  its  success  to  the  graceful  man- 
ner of  the  actress  who  spoke  it. — Goldsmith. 

3  Where  the  College  of  Physicians  then  stood. 


OP    GOLDSMITH.  169 

Go  ask  your  manager.' — '  Who,  me !  Your  pardon : 
These  things  are  not  our  forte  at  Co  vent- Garden.' 
Our  author's  friends,  thus  plac'd  at  happy  distance, 
Give  him  good  words  indeed,  but  no  assistance. 
As  some  unhappy  wight  at  some  new.  play, 
At  the  pit  door  stands  elbowing  away, 
While  oft,  with  many  a  smile,  and  many  a  shrug, 
He  eyes  the  centre,  where  his  friends  sit  snug ; 
His  simpering  friends,  with  pleasure  in  their  eyes, 
Sink  as  he  sinks,  and  as  he  rises  rise ; 
He  nods,  they  nod ;  he  cringes,  they  grimace ; 
But  not  a  soul  will  budge  to  give  him  place. 
Since  then,  unhelp'd,  our  bard  must  now  conform 
"  To  bide  the  pelting  of  this  pitiless  storm," 
Blame  where  you  must,  be  candid  where  you  can, 
And  be  each  critic  the  Good-natur'd  Man. 


170  THE    POEMS 


EPILOGUE  TO  THE  COMEDY  OF  «  SHE 
STOOPS  TO   CONQUER.' 


WELL,  having  stoop'd  to  conquer  with  success, 
And  gain'd  a  hushand  without  aid  from  dress, 
Still,  as  a  barmaid,  I  could  wish  it  too, 
As  I  have  conquer'd  him,  to  conquer  you : 
And  let  me  say,  for  all  your  resolution, 
That  pretty  barmaids  have  done  execution. 
Our  life  is  all  a  play,  compos'd  to  please ; 
We  have  our  exits  and  our  entrances.' 
The  first  act  shows  the  simple  country  maid, 
Harmless  and  young,  of  every  thing  afraid ; 
Blushes  when  hir'd,  and,  with  unmeaning  action, 
'  I  hope  as  how  to  give  you  satisfaction.' 
Her  second  act  displays  a  livelier  scene,  — 
Th'  unblushing  barmaid  of  a  country  inn, 
Who  whisks  about  the  house,  at  market  caters, 
Talks  loud,  coquets  the  guests,  and  scolds  the 

waiters. 

Next  the  scene  shifts  to  town,  and  there  she  soars, 
The  chop-house  toast  of  ogling  connoisseurs. 
On  'squires  and  cits  she  there  displays  her  arts, 
And  on  the  gridiron  broils  her  lovers'  hearts ; 
And  as  she  smiles,  her  triumphs  to  complete, 
Even  common-councilmen  forget  to  eat. 


OF    GOLDSMITH.  171 

The  fourth  act  shows  her  wedded  to  the  'squire, 
And  madam  now  begins  to  hold  it  higher ; 
Pretends  to  taste,  at  operas  cries  caro  ! 
And  quits  her  Nancy  Dawson  for  Che  Faro. 
Dotes  upon  dancing,  and,  in  all  her  pride, 
Swims  round  the  room,  the  Heinel *  of  Cheapside ; 
Ogles  and  leers  with  artificial  skill, 
Till,  having  lost  in  age  the  power  to  kill, 
She  sits  all  night  at  cards,  and  ogles  at  spadille. 
Such,  through  our  lives,  the  eventful  history ! 
The  fifth  and  last  act  still  remains  for  me : 
The  barmaid  now  for  your  protection  prays, 
Turns  female  barrister,  and  pleads  for  bays. 

1  Madame  Heinel  was  a  favorite  dancer  in  London  when 
this  Epilogue  was  spoken. — P.  C. 


172  THE   POEMS 


INTENDED  EPILOGUE  TO  "SHE   STOOPS  TO 
CONQUER." 


Enter  Mrs.  Bulkley,  who  curtsies  very  low,  as  beginning  to 
speak.  Then  enter  Miss  Catley,  who  stands  full  before  her, 
and  curtsies  to  the  audience. 


MRS.    BULKLEY. 

HOLD,  Ma'am,  your  pardon.     What's  your  busi- 
ness here  ? 

MISS   CATLEY. 

The  Epilogue. 

MRS.   BULKLEY. 

The  Epilogue? 

MISS   CATLEY. 

Yes,  the  Epilogue,  my  dear. 

MRS.   BULKLEY. 

•Sure  you  mistake,  Ma'am.      The  Epilogue,  / 
bring  it. 

HISS   CATLEY. 

Excuse  me,  Ma'am.     The  author  bid  me  sing  it. 

RECITATIVE. 

Ye  beaux  and  belles,  that  form  this  splendid  ring, 
Suspend  your  conversation  while  I  sing. 


OP    GOLDSMITH.  173 

MBS.    BTJLKLET. 

Why,  sure  the  girl 's  beside  herself:  an  Epilogue 

of  singing  ? 

A  hopeful  end  indeed  to  such  a  blest  beginning. 
Besides,  a  singer  in  a  comic  set ! 
Excuse  me,  Ma'am,  I  know  the  etiquette. 

MISS    CATLET. 

What  if  we  leave  it  to  the  House  ? 

MBS.    BTTLKLET. 

The  House !  —  Agreed. 

MIS8    CATLET. 

Agreed. 

MES.    BULKLET. 

And  she,  whose  party 's  largest,  shall  proceed. 
And  first,  I  hope,  you'll  readily  agree 
I've  all  the  critics  and  the  wits  for  me. 
They,  I  am  sure,  will  answer  my  commands : 
Ye  candid  judging  few,  hold  up  your  hands.    . 
What !  no  return  ?     I  find,  too  late,  I  fear, 
That  modern  judges  seldom  enter  here. 

MISS    CATLET. 

I'm  for  a  different  set,  —  old  men,  whose  trade  is 
Still  to  gallant  and  dangle  with  the  ladies. 

RECITATIVE. 

Who  mump  their  passion,  and  who,  grimly  smiling, 
Still  thus  address  the  fair  with  voice  beguiling : 


174  THE   POEMS 

AIR  —  COTILLON. 

Turn,  my  fairest,  turn,  if  ever 
Strephon  caught  thy  ravish'd  eye ; 
Pity  take  on  your  swain  so  clever, 
Who  without  your  aid  must  die. 

Yes,  I  shall  die,  hu,  hu,  hu,  hu  ! 

Yes,  I  must  die,  ho,  ho,  ho,  ho ! 

Da  Capo. 

MRS.    BULKLEY. 

Let  all  the  old  pay  homage  to  your  merit ; 

Give  me  the  young,  the  gay,  the  men  of  spirit. 

Ye  travelTd  tribe,  ye  macaroni  train, 

Of  French  friseurs,  and  nosegays,  justly  vain, 

Who  take  a  trip  to  Paris  once  a  year 

To  dress,  and  look  like  awkward  Frenchmen 

here; 

Lend  me  your  hands  —  Oh !  fatal  news  to  tell : 
Their  hands  are  only  lent  to  the  Heinel.1 

MISS   CATLEY. 

Ay,  take  your  travellers  —  travellers  indeed ! 
Give  me  my  bonny  Scot,  that  travels  from  the 

Tweed. 

Where  are  the  chiels  ?     Ah !  ah,  I  well  discern 
The  smiling  looks  of  each  bewitching  bairn. 

AIR  —  A  bonny  young  lad  is  my  Jockey. 

I'll  sing  to  amuse  you  by  night  and  by  day, 
And  be  unco  merry  when  you  are  but  gay ; 
l  [A  favorite  dancer.] 


OF    GOLDSMITH.  175 

• 

When  you  with  your  bagpipes  are  ready  to  play, 
My  voice  shall  be  ready  to  carol  away 

With  Sandy,  and  Sawney,  and  Jockey, 
With  Sawney,  and  Jarvie,  and  Jockey. 

MRS.    BULKXET. 

Ye  gamesters,  who,  so  eager  hi  pursuit, 
Make  but  of  all  your  fortune  one  va  toute : 
Ye  jockey  tribe,  whose  stock  of  words  are  few, 
'  I  hold  the  odds.  —  Done,  done,  with  you,  with 

you:' 

Ye  barristers,  so  fluent  with  grimace,  — 
'  My  Lord,  your  Lordship  misconceives  the  case:' 
Doctors,  who  cough  and  answer  every  misfortuner, 
'  I  wish  I'd  been  call'd  in  a  little  sooner ; ' 
Assist  my  cause  with  hands  and  voices  hearty, 
Come,  end  the  contest  here,  and  aid  my  party. 

A I B  —  BALLINAMONY. 
MISS   CATLET. 

Ye  brave  Irish  lads,  hark  away  to  the  crack, 
Assist  me,  I  pray,  in  tliis  woful  attack  j 
For  sure  I  don't  wrong  you,  you  seldom  are  slack, 
When  the  ladies  are  calling,  to  blush,  and  hang 

back. 

For  you're  always  polite  and  attentive, 
Still  to  amuse  us  inventive, 
And  death  is  your  only  preventive : 
Your  hands  and  your  voices  for  me. 


THE    POEMS 
MRS.   BULKLEY. 


Well,  Madam,  what  if,  after  all  this  sparring, 
We  both  agree,  like  friends,  to  end  our  jarring  ? 

MISS  CA.TLEY. 

And  that  our  friendship  may  remain  unbroken, 
What  if  we  leave  the  Epilogue  unspoken  ? 

MBS.    BULK.LEY. 

Agreed. 

KISS  CATLEY. 

Agreed. 

MBS.   BULK.LEY. 

And  now,  with  late  repentance, 
Unepilogued  the  poet  waits  his  sentence. 
Condemn  the  stubborn  fool  who  can't  submit 
To  thrive  by  flattery,  though  he  starves  by  wit. 

\Exeunt. 


OP    GOLDSMITH.  177 

ANOTHER  INTENDED  EPILOGUE  TO   "SHE 
STOOPS   TO   CONQUER." 

TO  EE   SPOKEN  BT  MRS.   BULKXEY. 

THERE  is  a  place  —  so  Ariosto  sings  — 

A  treasury  for  lost  and  missing  things ; 

Lost  human  wits  have  places  there  assign'd  them, 

And  they  who  lose  their  senses,  there  may  find 

them. 

But  where's  this  place,  this  storehouse  of  the  age? 
The  moon,  says  he  ;  —  but  I  affirm,  the  stage : 
At  least,  in  many  things,  I  think  I  see 
His  lunar  and  our  mimic  world  agree. 
Both  shine  at  night ;  for,  but  at  Foote's  alone, 
We  scarce  exhibit  till  the  sun  goes  down ; 
Both  prone  to  change,  no  settled  limits  fix, 
And  sure  the  folks  of  both  are  lunatics. 
But,  in  this  parallel,  my  best  pretence  is, 
That  mortals  visit  both  to  find  their  senses. 
To  this  strange  spot,  rakes,  macaronies,  cits, 
Come  thronging  to  collect  their  scattered  wits. 
The  gay  coquette,  who  ogles  all  the  day, 
Comes  here  at  night,  and  goes  a  prude  away. 
Hither  the  affected  city  dame  advancing, 
Who  sighs  for  operas,  and  dotes  on  dancing, 
Taught  by  our  art  her  ridicule  to  pause  on, 
Quits  the  Ballet,  and  calls  for  Nancy  Dawson. 
The  gamester,  too,  whose  wit's  all  high  or -low, 
Oft  risks  his  fortune  on  one  desperate  throw, 
12 


178  THE   POEMS 

Come  here  to  saunter,  having  made  his  bets, 
Finds  his  lost  senses  out,  and  pays  his  debts. 
The  Mohawk,  too,  with  angry  phrases  stor'd, 
As  '  Dam'me,  sir,'  and  '  Sir,  I  wear  a  sword,' 
Here  lesson'd  for  a  while,  and  hence  retreating, 
Goes  out,  affronts  his  man,  and  takes  a  beating. 
Here  come  the  sons  of  scandal  and  of  news, 
But  find  no  sense  —  for  they  had  none  to  lose. 
Of  all  the  tribe  here  wanting  an  adviser, 
Our  author 's  the  least  likely  to  grow  wiser ; 
Has  he  not  seen  how  you  your  favour  place 
On  sentimental  queens  and  lords  in  lace  ? 
Without  a  star,  a  coronet,  or  garter, 
How  can  the  piece  expect  or  hope  for  quarter  ? 
No  high-life  scenes,  no  sentiment :  the  creature 
Still  stoops  among  the  low  to  copy  nature. 
Yes,  he's  far  gone :  —  and  yet  some  pity  fix ; 
The  English  laws  forbid  to  punish  lunatics.1 

l  Presented  in  MS.,  among  other  papers,  to  Dr.  Percy,  by 
the  Poet,  and  first  printed  in  Miscellaneous  Works,  1801. — P.  C. 


OF    GOLDSMITH.  179 

i 


POEMS 

EXTRACTED  FROM  THE  PROSE  WORKS  OF  GOLDSMITH. 


(See  Citizen  of  the  World,  L.  85.)  It  is  the  business  of  the 
Btage-poet  to  watch  the  appearance  of  every  new  player  at  his 
own  house,  and  so  come  out  next  day  with  a  flaunting  copy 
of  newspaper  verses.  In  these,  nature  and  the  actor  may  be 
set  to  run  races,  the  player  always  coming  off  victorious;  or 
nature  may  mistake  him  for  herself;  or  old  Shakespeare  may 
put  on  his  winding-sheet,  and  pay  him  a  visit;  or  the  tuneful 
Nine  may  strike  up  their  harps  in  his  praise;  or,  should  it 
happen  to  be  an  actress,  Venus,  the  beauteous  Queen  of  Love, 
and  the  naked  Graces,  are  ever  in  waiting.  The  lady  must  be 

herself  a  goddess  bred  and  born;  she  must but  you  shall 

have  a  specimen  of  one  of  these  poems,  which  may  convey  a 
more  precise  idea:  — 


ON  SEEING  MRS.  PERFORM  IN  THE 

CHARACTER  OF 

FOR  you,  bright  fair,  the  Nine  address  their  lays, 
And  tune  my  feeble  voice  to  sing  thy  praise. 
The  heartfelt  power  of  every  charm  divine, 
"Who  can  withstand  their  all-commanding  shine  ? 
See  how  she  moves  along  with  every  grace, 
While  soul-brought  tears  steal  down  each  shining 
face. 


180  THE   POEMS 

She  speaks !  'tis  rapture  all,  and  nameless  bliss, 
Ye  gods !  what  transport  e'er  compar'd  to  this  ! 
As  when,  in  Paphian  groves,  the  Queen  of  Love 
With  fond  complaint  address'd  the  listening  Jove ; 
'Twas  joy  and  endless  blisses  all  around, 
And  rocks  forgot  their  hardness  at  the  sound. 
Then  first,  at  last  even  Jove  was  taken  in, 
And  felt  her  charms,  without  disguise,  within. 


(V.  Citizen  of  the  World,  L.  106.)  I  am  amazed  that  none 
have  yet  found  out  the  secret  of  flattering  the  worthless,  and 
yet  of  preserving  a  safe  conscience.  I  have  often  wished  for 
some  method  by  which  a  man  might  do  himself  and  his  de- 
ceased patron  justice,  without  being  under  the  hateful  reproach 
of  self-conviction.  After  long  lucubration,  I  have  hit  upon 
such  an  expedient,  and  send  you  the  specimen  of  a  poem  upon 
the  decease  of  a  great  man,  in  which  the  flattery  is  perfectly 
fine,  and  yet  the  poet  perfectly  innocent. 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  THE  EIGHT  HON. 

YE  Muses,  pour  the  pitying  tear 
For  Pollio  snatch'd  away ; 

Oh !  had  he  liv'd  another  year,  — 
He  had  not  died  to-day. 

Oh !  were  he  born  to  bless  mankind 
In  virtuous  times  of  yore, 

Heroes  themselves  had  fallen  behind  - 
Whene'er  he  went  before. 


OF    GOLDSMITH.  181 

How  sad  the  groves  and  plains  appear, 

And  sympathetic  sheep ! 
Even  pitying  hills  would  drop  a  tear,  — 

If  hills  could  learn  to  weep. 

His  bounty,  in  exalted  strain, 
Each  bard  might  well  display ; 

Since  none  implor'd  relief  in  vain  — 
That  went  reliev'd  away. 

And  hark  !  I  hear  the  tuneful  throng 

His  obsequies  forbid : 
He  still  shall  live,  shall  live  as  long  — 

As  ever  dead  man  did. 


These  verses  seem  to  have  been  the  first  rough  sketch,  after- 
wards altered  and  improved  into  the  Elegy  on  Mrs.  Mary 
Blaize. 


(V.  Citizen  of  the  World,  L.  113.)  The  weapon  chiefly  used 
In  the  present  contest  is  epigram,  and  certainly  never  was  a 
keener  made  use  of.  They  have  discovered  surprising  sharp- 
ness on  both  sides.  The  first  that  came  out  upon  this  occasion 
was  a  kind  of  new  composition  in  this  way,  and  might  more 
properly  be  called  an  epigrammatic  thesis  than  an  epigram. 
It  consists,  first,  of  an  argument  in  prose ;  next  follows  a  motto 
from  Roscommon ;  then  comes  the  epigram ;  and,  lastly,  notes 
serving  to  explain  the  epigram.  But  you  shall  have  it  with  all 
its  decorations :  — 


182  THE   POEMS 


AN  EPIGRAM, 

ADDRESSED   TO   THE   GENTLEMEN   REFLECTED   ON   IN   THE 
ROSCIAD,   A  POEM,    BY   THE   AUTHOR. 


Worried  with  debts,  and  past  all  hopes  of  bail, 
His  pea  he  prostitutes  t'  avoid  a  gaol. 


LET  not  the  hungry  Bavius'  angry  stroke 
Awake  resentment,  or  your  rage  provoke ; 
But,  pitying  his  distress,  let  virtue *  shine, 
And  giving  each  your  bounty,2  let  him  dine. 
For  thus  retain'd,  as  learned  counsel  can, 
Each  case,  however  bad,  he  '11  new  j  apan ; 
And,  by  a  quick  transition,  plainly  show 
'Twas  no  defect  of  yours,  but  pocket  low, 
That  caus'd  his  putrid  kennel  to  o'erflow. 

The  last  lines  are  certainly  executed  in  a  very  masterly  man- 
ner: it  is  of  that  species  of  argumentation  called  the  perplex- 
ing. It  effectually  flings  the  antagonist  into  a  mist;  there's 
no  answering  it :  the  laugh  is  raised  against  him,  while  he  is 
endeavouring  to  find  out  the  jest.  At  once  he  shows  that  the 
author  has  a  kennel,  and  that  this  kennel  is  putrid,  and  that 
this  putrid  kennel  overflows.  But  why  does  it  overflow'?  It 
overflows  because  the  author  happens  to  have  low  pockets. 


1  Charity. 

*  Settled  at  one  shilling,  the  price  of  the  poem. 


OP    GOLDSMITH.  183 


There  was  also  another  new  attempt  in  this  way,  a  prosaio 
epigram,  which  came  out  upon  this  occasion.  This  is  so  full 
of  matter,  that  a  critic  might  split  it  into  fifteen  epigrams, 
each  properly  fitted  with  its  sting.  You  shall  see  it:  — 


TO  G.   C.  AND  E.  L. 

'TwAS  you,  or  I,  or  he,  or  all  together, 

'Twas  one,  both,  three  of  them,  they  know  not 

whether ; 

This,  I  believe,  between  us  great  or  small, 
You,  I,  he,  wrote  it  not  —  'twas  Churchill's  all. 

There,  there  is  a  perplex!  I  could  have  wished  to  have 
made  it  quite  perfect;  the  author,  as  in  the  case  before,  had 
added  notes.  Almost  every  word  admits  a  scholium,  and  a 
long  one  too.  I,  YOU,  HE.  Suppose  a  stranger  should  ask, 
And  who  are  you!  Here  are  three  obscure  persons  spoken  of, 
that  may  in  a  short  time  be  utterly  forgotten.  Their  names 
should  consequently  have  been  written  in  notes  at  the  bottom ; 
but  when  the  reader  comes  to  the  words  great  and  small,  the 
maze  is  inextricable.  Here  the  stranger  may  dive  for  a  mys- 
te'ry,  without  ever  reaching  the  bottom.  Let  him  know,  then, 
that  small  is  a  word  poorly  introduced  to  make  good  rhyme, 
and  great  was  a  very  proper  word  to  keep,  small  company. 

This  was  denoted  against  the  triumvirate  of  friends,  Churchill, 
Colman,  and  Lloyd. 


184  THE   POEMS 


(V.  Cit.  of  the  World,  L.  116.)  Even  in  the  sultry  wilds 
of  Southern  America,  the  lover  is  not  satisfied  with  possessing 
his  mistress's  person,  without  having  her  mind. 


IN  all  my  Enna's  beauties  blest, 
Amidst  profusion  still  I  pine ; 

For  though  she  gives  me  up  her  breast, 
Its  panting  tenant  is  not  mine. 


OF    GOLDSMITH.  185 


"  You  should  have  given  me  your  opinion  of  the  design  of 
the  heroi-comical  poem  which  I  sent  you ;  you  remember  I 
intended  to  introduce  the  hero  of  the  poem  as  lying  in  a 
paltry  ale-house.  You  may  take  the  following  specimen  of 
the  manner,  which  I  natter  myself  is  quite  original.  The 
room  in  which  he  lies  may  be  described  somewhat  in  this 
way: — 

THE  window,  patch'd  with  paper,  lent  a  ray, 
That  feebly  show'd  the  state  in  which  he  lay. 
The  sanded  floor  that  grits  beneath  the  tread, 
The  humid  wall  with  paltry  pictures  spread ; 
The  game  of  goose  was  there  exposed  to  view, 
And  the  twelve  rules  the  royal  martyr  drew ; 
The  seasons,  fram'd  with  listing,  found  a  place, 
And  Prussia's  monarch  show'd  his  lampblack  face. 
The  morn  was  cold ;  he  views  with  keen  desire 
A  rusty  grate,  unconscious  of  a  fire : 
An  unpaid  reckoning  on  the  frieze  was  scor'd, 
And  five  crack'd  teacups  dress'd  the  chimney  board. 

And  now  imagine,  after  his  soliloquy,  the  landlord  to  make 
his  appearance,  in  order  to  dun  him  for  the  reckoning: — 

Not  with  that  face,  so  servile  and  so  gay, 
That  welcomes  every  stranger  that  can  pay  ; 
With  sulky  eye  he  smok'd  the  patient  man, 
Then  pull'd  his  breeches  tight,  and  thus  began :  * 

i  Letter  to  the  Rev.  Henry  Goldsmith. 


186  THE   POEMS 


Addison,  in  some  beautiful  Latin  lines  inserted  in  the  Spec- 
tator, is  entirely  of  opinion  that  birds  observe  a  strict  chastity 
of  manners,  and  never  admit  the  caresses  of  a  different  tribe. 
—  (v.  vol.  vi.  No.  412.) 


CHASTE  are  their  instincts,  faithful  is  their  fire, 
No  foreign  beauty  tempts  to  false  desire ; 
The  snow-white  vesture,  and  the  glittering  crown, 
The  simple  plumage,  or  the  glossy  down, 
Prompt  not  their  loves  —  the  patriot  bird  pursues 
His  well-acquainted  tints,  and  kindred  hues. 
Hence  through  their  tribes  no  mix'd  polluted  flame, 
No  monster  breed  to  mark  the  groves  with  shame ; 
But  the  chaste  blackbird,  to  its  partner  true, 
Thinks  black  alone  is  beauty's  favourite  hue. 
The  nightingale,  with  mutual  passion  blest. 
Sings  to  its  mate,  and  nightly  charms  the  rest. 
While  the  dark  owl  to  court  its  partner  flies, 
And  owns  its  offspring  in  their  yellow  eyes.1 

1  See  Goldsmith's  An.  Nat.  vol.  v.  p.  212. 


OF    GOLDSMITH.  187 


LINES  ATTRIBUTED  TO  DR.   GOLDSMITH, 

INSERTED   IN   THE   MORNING   CHRONICLE 
OP  APRIL    3,    1800. 


E'ER  have  you  seen,  bath'd  in  the  morning  dew, 
The  budding  rose  its  infant  bloom  display : 

When  first  its  virgin  tints  unfold  to  view, 

It  shrinks,  and  scarcely  trusts  the  blaze  of  day. 

So  soft,  so  delicate,  so  sweet  she  came, 

Youth's  damask   glow  just  dawning   on   her 

cheek ; 

I  gaz'd,  I  sigh'd,  I  caught  the  tender  flame, 
Felt  the  fond  pang,  and  droop'd  with  passion 
weak. 


VIDA'S  GAME  OF  CHESS, 

AS  IT  HAS  BEEN  FOUND  TRANSCRIBED  IK  THE  HANDWRITING 
OF 

OLIVER    GOLDSMITH. 

NOW  FIRST  PRINTED   FROM   THE  ORIGINAL  MS. 
Of  IBS  POSSESSION  OP 

BOLTON  CORNET,  ESQ. 


OF  the  MS.  of  this  translation,  Mr.  Forster,  who  has  drawn 
largely  and  importantly  from  it,  gives  the  following  account: 
"  It  is  a  small  quarto  manuscript  of  thirty-four  pages,  con- 
taining 679  lines,  to  which  a  fly-leaf  is  appended,  in  which 
Goldsmith  notes  the  differences  of  nomenclature  between 
Vida's  chessmen  and  our  own.  It  has  occasional  interlinea- 
tions and  corrections,  but  rather  such  as  would  occur  in  tran- 
scription, than  in  a  first  or  original  copy.  Sometimes,  indeed, 
choice  appears  to  have  been  made  (as  at  page  29)  between 
two  words  equally  suitable  to  the  sense  and  verse,  as  'to'  for 
'  toward ; '  but  the  insertions  and  erasures  refer' almost  wholly 
to  words  or  lines  accidentally  omitted  and  replaced.  The 
triplet  is  always  carefully  marked;  and  though  it  is  seldom 
found  in  any  other  of  Goldsmith's  poems,  I  am  disposed  to 
regard  its  frequent  recurrence,  here,  as  even  helping  in  some 
degree  to  explain  the  motive  which  had  led  him  to  the  trial 
of  an  experiment  in  rhyme  comparatively  new  to  him.  If  we 
suppose  him.  half  consciously  it  may  be,  taking  up  the  man- 
ner of  the  great  master  of  translation,  Dryden,  who  was  at  all 
times  so  much  a  favourite  with  him,  he  would  at  least  be  less 
apt  to  fall  short  in  so  marked  a  peculiarity,  than  to  'err 
perhaps  a  little  on  the  side  of  excess;  though  I  am  far  from 
thinking  such  to  be  the  result  in  the  present  instance.  The 
effect  of  the  whole  translation  is  very  pleasing  to  me,  and  the 
mock  heroic  effect  I  think  not  a  little  assisted  by  the  reiter- 
ated use  of  the  triplet  and  Alexandrine.  As  to  any  evidences 
of  authorship  derivable  from  the  appearance  of  the  manu- 
script, I  will  only  add  another  word.  The  lines  in  the  trans- 
lation have  been  carefully  counted,  and  the  number  is  marked 
in  Goldsmith's  hand  at  the  close  of  his  transcription.  Such 
a  fact  is,  of  course,  only  to  be  taken  in  aid  of  other  proof;  but 
a  man  is  not  generally  at  the  pains  of  counting, — still  less,  I 
should  say,  in  such  a  case  as  Goldsmith's,  of  elaborately 
transcribing,  lines  which  are  not  his  own." — Forster's  Gold- 
smith, ii.  265. 

There  had  been  an  earlier  translation  of  the  poem  by 
George  Jeffreys,  (4to.  1736,)  but  it  is  very  inferior  to  the 
translation  which  Mr.  Cornev  has  now  enabled  me  to  reprint. 

CUNNINGHAM. 


THE   POEMS    OF    GOLDSMITH.  191 


VIDA'S  GAME  OF  CHESS. 

TRANSLATED. 


ARMIES  of  box  that  sportively  engage, 

And  mimic  real  battles  in  their  rage, 

Pleased  I  recount ;  how,  smit  with  glory's  charms, 

Two  mighty  monarchs  met  in  adverse  arms, 

Sable  and  white :  assist  me  to  explore, 

Ye  Serian  Nymphs,  what  ne'er  was  sung  before. 

No  path  appears  ;  yet  resolute  I  stray 

Where  youth  undaunted  bids  me  force  my  way. 

O'er  rocks  and  cliffs  while  I  the  task  pursue, 

Guide  me,  ye  Nymphs,  with  your  unerring  clue. 

For  you  the  rise  of  this  diversion  know, 

You  first  were  pleased  in  Italy  to  show 

This  studious  sport ;  from  Scacchis  was  its  name, 

The  pleasing  record  of  your  sister's  fame. 

When  Jove  through  Ethiopia's  parch'd  extent 
To  grace  the  nuptials  of  old  Ocean  went, 
Each  god  was  there  ;  and  mirth  and  joy  around 
To  shores  remote  diffused  their  happy  sound. 
Then  when  their  hunger  and  their  thirst  no  more 
Claim'd  their  attention,  and  the  feast  was  o'er, 
Ocean,  with  pastime  to  divert  the  thought, 
Commands  a  painted  table  to  be  brought. 


192  THE   POEMS 

Sixty-four  spaces  fill  the  chequer'd  square ; 
Eight  in  each  rank  eight  equal  limits  share. 
Alike  their  form,  but  different  are  their  dyes; 
They  fade  alternate,  and  alternate  rise, 
White  after  black ;  such  various  stains  as  those 
The  shelving  backs  of  tortoises  disclose. 
Then  to  the  Gods  that  mute  and  wondering  sate, 
"  You  see,"  says  he,  "  the  field  prepared  for  fate. 
Here  will  the  little  armies  please  your  sight, 
With  adverse  colours  hurrying  to  the  fight, 
On  which  so  oft,  with  silent  sweet  surprise, 
The  Nymphs  and  Nereids  used  to  feast  their  eyes, 
And  all  the  neighbours  of  the  hoary  deep, 
When  calm  the  sea,  and  winds  were  lull'd  asleep. 
But  see,  the  mimic  heroes  tread  the  board." 
He  said,  and  straightway  from  an  urn  he  pour'd 
The  sculptured  box,  that  neatly  seem'd  to  ape 
The  graceful  figure  of  a  human  shape: — 
Equal  the  strength  and  number  of  each  foe, 
Sixteen  appear'd  like  jet,  sixteen  like  snow. 
As  their  shape  varies  various  is  the  name, 
Different   their  posts,  nor  is   their  strength  the 

same. 

There  might  you  see  two  Kings  with  equal  pride 
Gird  on  their  arms,  their  consorts  by  their  side ; 
Here  the  Foot-warriors  glowing  after  fame, 
There  prancing  Knights  and  dexterous  Archers 

came, 

And  Elephants,  that  on  their  backs  sustain 
Vast  towers  of  war,  and  fill  and  shake  the  plain. 


OF   GOLDSMITH.  193 

And  now  both  hosts,  preparing  for  the  storm 
Of  adverse  battle,  their  encampments  form. 
In  the  fourth  space,  and  on  the  farthest  line, 
Directly  opposite  the  monarchs  shine ; 
The  swarthy  on  white  ground,  on  sable  stands 
The  silver  King ;  and  thence  they  send  commands. 
Nearest  to  these  the  Queens  exert  their  mi<»ht; 

v  o         ' 

One  the  left  side,  and  t'other  guards  the  right : 
Where  each,  by  her  respective  armour  known, 
Chooses  the  colour  that  is  like  her  own. 
Then  the  young  Archers,  two  that  snowy-white 
Bend  the  tough  yew,  and  two  as  black  as  night; 
(Greece  call'd  them  Mars's  favourites  heretofore, 
From  their  delight  in  war,  and  thirst  of  gore.) 
These  on  each  side  the  Monarch  and  his  Queen 
Surround  obedient ;  next  to  these  are  seen 
The  crested  Knights  in  golden  armour  gay; 
Their  steeds  by  turns  curvet,  or  snort  or  neigh. 
In  either  army,  on  each  distant  wing 
Two  mighty  Elephants  their  castles  bring, 
Bulwarks  immense !   and  then  at  last  combine 
Eight  of  the  Foot  to  form  the  second  line, 
The  vanguard  to  the  King  and  Queen ;  from  far 
Prepared  to  open  all  the  fate  of  war. 
So  moved  the  boxen  hosts,  each  double-lined, 
Their  different  colours  floating  in  the  wind : 
As  if  an  army  of  the  Gauls  should  go, 
"With  their  white  standards,  o'er  the  Alpine  snow 
To  meet  in  rigid  fight  on  scorching  sands 
The  sun-burnt  Moors  andMemnon's  swarthy  bands. 
13 


194  THE    POEMS 

Then  Father  Ocean  thus :  "  You  see  them  here. 
Celestial  Powers,  what  troops,  what  camps  appear. 
Learn  now  the  sev'ral  orders  of  the  fray, 
For  ev'n  these  arms  their  stated  laws  obey. 
To  lead  the  fight,  the  Kings  from  all  their  bands 
Choose  whom  they  please  to  bear  their  great  com- 
mands. 

Should  a  black  hero  first  to  battle  go, 
Instant  a  white  one  guards  against  the  blow ; 
But  only  one  at  once  can  charge  or  shun  the  foe. 
Their  gen'ral  purpose  on  one  scheme  is  bent, 
So  to  besiege  the  King  within  the  tent, 
That  there  remains  no  place  by  subtle  flight 
From  danger  free ;  and  that  decides  the  fight. 
Meanwhile,  howe'er,  the  sooner  to  destroy 
Th'  imperial  prince,  remorseless  they  employ 
Their  swords  in  blood ;  and  whosoever  dare 
Oppose  their  vengeance,  in  the  rum  share. 
Fate  thins  their  camp ;  the  parti-coloured  field 
Widens  apace,  as  they  o'ercome  or  yield  : 
But  the  proud  victor  takes  the  captive's  post, 
There  fronts  the  fury  of  th'  avenging  host 
One  single  shock,  and  (should  he  ward  the  blow,) 
May  then  retire  at  pleasure  from  the  foe. 
The  Foot  alone  (so  their  harsh  laws  ordain) 
When  they  proceed  can  ne'er  return  again. 

But  neither  all  rush  on  alike  to  prove 
The  terror  of  their  arms :  the  Foot  must  move 
Directly  on,  and  but  a  single  square ; 
Yet  may  these  heroes,  when  they  first  prepare 


OF    GOLDSMITH.  195 

To  mix  in  combat  on  the  bloody  mead, 

Double  their  sally,  and  two  steps  proceed ; 

But  when  they  wound,  their  swords  they  subtly 

guide 

With  aim  oblique,  and  slanting  pierce  his  side. 
But  the  great  Indian  beasts,  whose  backs  sustain 
Vast  turrets  arm'd,  when  on  the  redd'ning  plain 
They  join  in  all  the  terror  of  the  fight, 
Forward  or  backward,  to  the  left  or  right, 
Run  furious,  and  impatient  of  confine 
Scour  through  the  field,  and  threat  the  farthest  line. 
Yet  must  they  ne'er  obliquely  aim  their  blows ; 
That  only  manner  is  allow'd  to  those 
Whom   Mars   has  favour'd  most,  who  bend  the 

stubborn  bows. 

These  glancing  sidewards  in  a  straight  career, 
Yet  each  confined  to  their  respective  sphere, 
Or  white  or  black,  can  send  th'  unerring  dart 
Wing'd  with  swift  death  to  pierce  through  ev'ry 

part. 

The  fiery  steed,  regardless  of  the  reins, 
Comes  prancing  on ;  but  sullenly  disdains 
The  path  direct,  and  boldly  wheeling  round, 
Leaps  o'er  a  double  space  at  ev'ry  bound, 
And  shifts  from  white  or  black  to  different  colour'd 

gi-ound. 

But  the  fierce  Queen,  whom  dangers  ne'er  dismay, 
The  strength  and  terror  of  the  bloody  day, 
In  a  straight  line  spreads  her  destruction  wide, 
To  left  or  right,  before,  behind,  aside. 


196  THE   POEMS 

Yet  may  she  never  with  a  circling  course 
Sweep  to  the  battle  like  the  fretful  Horse ; 
But  unconfined  may  at  her  pleasure  stray, 
If  neither  friend  nor  foe  block  up  the  way  : 
For  to  o'erleap  a  warrior,  'tis  decreed 
Those  only  dare  who  curb  the  snorting  steed. 
With  greater  caution  and  majestic  state 
The  warlike  Monarchs  in  the  scene  of  fate 
Direct  their  motions,  since  for  these  appear 
Zealous  each  hope,  and  anxious  ev'ry  fear. 
While  the  King's  safe,  with  resolution  stern 
They  clasp  their  arms ;  but  should  a  sudden  turn 
Make  him  a  captive,  instantly  they  yield, 
Resolved  to  share  his  fortune  in  the  field. 
He  moves  on  slow ;  with  reverence  profound 
His  faithful  troops  encompass  him  around, 
And  oft,  to  break  some  instant  fatal  scheme, 
Rush  to  their  fates,  their  sov'reign  to  redeem : 
While  he,  unanxious  where  to  wound  the  foe, 
Need  only  shift  and  guard  against  a  blow. 
But  none,  however,  can  presume  t'  appear 
Within  his  reach,  but  must  his  vengeance  fear ; 
For  he  on  ev'ry  side  his  terror  throws ; 
But  when  he  changes  from  his  first  repose, 
Moves  but  one  step,  most  awfully  sedate, 
Or  idly  roving,  or  intent  on  fate. 
These*  are  the  sev'ral  and  establish'd  laws : 
Now  see  how  each  maintains  his  bloody  cause." 
Here  paused  the  God,  but  (since  whene'er  they 

wage  » 

War  here  on  earth  the  Gods  themselves  engage 


OF    GOLDSMITH.  197 

In  mutual  battle  as  they  hate  or  love, 

And  the  most  stubborn  war  is  oft  above,) 

Almighty  Jove  commands  the  circling  train 

Of  Gods  from  fav'ring  either  to  abstain, 

And  let  the  fight  be  silently  survey'd ; 

And  added  solemn  threats  if  disobey'd. 

Then  call'd  he  Phoebus  from  among  the  Powers 

And  subtle  Hermes,  whom  in  softer  hours 

Fair  Maia  bore :  youth  wanton'd  in  their  face  ; 

Both  in  life's  bloom,  both  shone  with  equal  grace. 

Hermes  as  yet  had  never  wing'd  his  feet ; 

As  yet  Apollo  in  his  radiant  seat 

Had  never  driv'n  his  chariot  through  the  air, 

Known  by  his  bow  alone  and  golden  hair. 

These  Jove  commission'd  to  attempt  the  fray, 

And  rule  the  sportive  military  day ; 

Bid  them  agree  which  party  each  maintains, 

And  promised  a  reward  that's  worth  their  pains. 

The  greater  took  their  seats ;  on  either  hand 

Respectful  the  less  Gods  in  order  stand, 

But  careful  not  to  interrupt  their  play, 

By  hinting  when  t'  advance  or  run  away. 

Then  they  examine,  who  shall  first  proceed 
To  try  their  courage,  and  their  army  lead. 
Chance  gave  it  for  the  White,  that  he  should  go 
First  with  a  brave  defiance  to  the  foe. 
Awhile  he  ponder'd  which  of  all  his  train 
Should  bear  his  first  commission  o'er  the  plain ; 
And  then  determined  to  begin  the  scene 
With  him  that  stood  before  to  guard  the  Queen. 


198  THE    POEMS 

He  took  a  double  step :  with  instant  care 
Does  the  black  Monarch  in  his  turn  prepare 
The  adverse  champion,  and  with  stern  command 
Bid  him  repel  the  charge  with  equal  hand. 
There  front  to  front,  the  midst  of  all  the  field, 
With  furious  threats  their  shining  arms  they  wield 
Yet  vain  the  conflict ;  neither  can  prevail 
While  in  one  path  each  other  they  assail. 
On  ev'ry  side  to  their  assistance  fly 
Their  fellow  soldiers,  and  with  strong  supply 
Crowd  to  the  battle,  but  no  bloody  stain 
Tinctures  their  armour ;  sportive  in  the  plain 
Mars  plays  awhile,  and  in  excursion  slight 
Harmless  they  sally  forth,  or  wait  the  fight. 

But  now  the  swarthy  Foot,  that  first  appear'd 
To  front  the  foe,  his  pond'rous  jav'lin  rear'd 
Leftward  aslant,  and  a  pale  warrior  slays, 
Spurns  him  aside,  and  boldly  takes  his  place. 
Unhappy  youth,  his  danger  not  to  spy  ! 
Instant  he  fell,  and  triumph'd  but  to  die. 
At  this  the  sable  King  with  prudent  care 
Removed  his  station  from  the  middle  square, 
And  slow  retiring  to  the  farthest  ground, 
There  safely  lurk'd,  with  troops  entrench'd  around. 
Then  from  each  quarter  to  the  war  advance 
The  furious  Knights,  and  poise  the  trembling  lance : 
By  turns  they  rush,  by  turns  the  victors  yield  ; 
Heaps  of  dead  Foot  choke  up  the  crimson  field : 
They  fall  unable  to  retreat ;  around 
The  clang  of  arms  and  iron  hoofs  resound. 


OF    GOLDSMITH.  199 

But  while  young  Phcobus  pleased  himself  to  view 
His  furious  Knight  destroy  the  vulgar  crew, 
Sly  Hermes  long'd  t'  attempt  with  secret  aim 
Some  noble  act  of  more  exalted  fame. 
For  this,  he  inoffensive  pass'd  along 
Through  ranks  of  Foot,  and  midst  the  trembling 

throng 

Sent  his  left  Horse  (that  free  without  confine 
Roved  o'er  the  plain)  upon  some  great  design 
Against  the  King  himself.     At  length  he  stood, 
And  having  fix'd  his  station  as  he  would, 
Threaten'd  at  once  with  instant  fate  the  King 
And  th'  Indian  beast  that  guarded  the  right  wing. 
Apollo  sigh'd,  and  hast'ning  to  relieve 
The  straiten'd  Monarch,  grieved  that  he  must  leave 
His  martial  Elephant  exposed  to  fate, 
And  view'd  with  pitying  eyes  his  dang'rous  state. 
First  in  his  thoughts  however  was  his  care 
To  save  his  King,  whom  to  the  neighbouring  square 
On  the  right  hand,  he  snatch'd  with  trembling 

flight ; 

At  this  with  fury  springs  the  sable  Knight, 
Drew  his  keen  sword,  and  rising  to  the  blow, 
Sent  the  great  Indian  brute  to  shades  below 
O  fatal  loss  !  for  none  except  the  Queen 
Spreads  such  a  terror  through  the  bloody  scene. 
"  Yet  shall  you  ne'er  unpunish'd  boast  your  prize," 
The  Delian  God  with  stern  resentment  cries ; 
And  wedged  him  round  with  foot,  and  pour'd  in 

fresh  supplies. 


200  THE    POEMS 

Thus  close  besieged,  trembling  he  cast  his  eye 
Around  the  plain,  but  saw  no  shelter  nigh, 
No  way  for  flight ;  for  here  the  Queen  opposed, 
The  Foot  in  phalanx  there  the  passage  closed : 
At  length  he  fell ;  yet  not  unpleased  with  fate, 
Since  victim  to  a  Queen's  vindictive  hate. 
With  grief  and  fury  burns  the  whiten'd  host, 
One  of  their  Tow'rs  thus  immaturely  lost. 
As  when  a  bull  has  in  contention  stern 
Lost  his  right  horn,  with  double  vengeance  burn 
His  thoughts  for  war,  with  blood  he's  cover'd  o'er, 
And  the  woods  echo  to  his  dismal  roar, 
So  look'd  the  flaxen  host,  when  angry  fate 
O'erturn'd  the  Indian  bulwark  of  their  state. 
Fired  at  this  great  success,  with  double  rage 
Apollo  hurries  on  his  troops  t'  engage, 
For  blood  and  havoc  wild ;  and,  while  he  leads 
His  troops  thus  careless,  loses  both  his  steeds : 
For  if  some  adverse  warriors  were  o'erthrown, 
He  little  thought  what  dangers  threat  his  own. 
But  slyer  Hermes  with  observant  eyes 
March'd  slowly  cautious,  and  at  distance  spies 
What  moves  must  next  succeed,  what  dangers 

next  arise. 

Often  would  he,  the  stately  Queen  to  snare, 
The  slender  Foot  to  front  her  arms  prepare, 
And  to  conceal  his  scheme  he  sighs  and  feigns 
Such  a  wrong  step  would  frustrate  all  his  pains. 
Just  then  an  Archer,  from  the  right-hand  view, 
At  the  nale  Queen  his  arrow  boldly  drew, 


OF    GOLDSMITH.  201 

Unseen  by  Phoebus,  who,  with  studious  thought, 
From  the  left  side  a  vulgar  hero  brought 
But  tender  Venus,  with  a  pitying  eye, 
Viewing  the  sad  destruction  that  was  nigh, 
Wink'd  upon  Phoebus  (for  the  Goddess  sat 
By  chance  directly  opposite)  ;  at  that 
Roused  in  an  instant,  young  Apollo  threw 
His  eyes  around  the  field  his  troops  to  view ; 
Perceived  the  danger,  and  with  sudden  fright 
Withdrew  the  Foot  that  he  had  sent  to  fight, 
And  saved  his  trembling  Queen  by  seasonable  flight. 
But  Maia's  son  with  shouts  fill'd  all  the  coast : 
"  The  Queen,"  he  cried,  "  the  important  Queen  is 

lost." 

Phoebus,  howe'er,  resolving  to  maintain 
What  he  had  done,  bespoke  the  heavenly  train. 
"  What  mighty  harm,  in  sportive  mimic  fight, 
Is  it  to  set  a  little  blunder  right, 
When  no  preliminary  rule  debarr'd  ? 
If  you  henceforward,  Mercury,  would  guard 
Against  such  practice,  let  us  make  the  law : 
And  whosoe'er  shall  first  to  battle  draw, 
Or  white,  or  black,  remorseless  let  him  go 
/         At  all  events,  and  dare  the  angry  foe." 

He  said,  and  this  opinion  pleased  around : 
~-v.  Jove  turn'd  aside,  and  on  his  daughter  frown'd, 
Unmark'd  by  Hermes,  who,  with  strange  surprise, 
Fretted  and  foam'd,  and  roll'd  his  ferret  eyes, 
And  but  with  great  reluctance  could  refrain 
From  dashing  at  a  blow  all  off  the  plain. 


202  THE   POEMS 

Then  he  resolved  to  interweave  deceits, — 
To  carry  on  the  war  by  tricks  and  cheats. 
Instant  he  call'd  an  Archer  from  the  throng. 
And  bid  him  like  the  courser  wheel  along : 
Bounding  he  springs,  and  threats  the  pallid  Queen. 
The  fraud,  however,  was  by  Pho3bus  seen ; 
He  smiled,  and  turning  to  the  Gods,  he  said, 
"  Though,  Hermes,  you  are  perfect  in  your  trade, 
And  you  can  trick  and  cheat  to  great  surprise, 
These  little  sleights  no  more  shall  blind  my  eyes ; 
Correct  them  if  you  please,  the  more  you  thus 

disguise." 

The  circle  laugh'd  aloud ;  and  Maia's  son 
(As  if  it  had  but  by  mistake  been  done) 
Recall'd  his -Archer,  and  with  motion  due, 
Bid  him  advance,  the  combat  to  renew. 
But  Phoebus  watch'd  him  with  a  jealous  eye, 
Fearing  some  trick  was  ever  lurking  nigh, 
For  he  would  oft,  with  sudden  sly  design, 
Send  forth  at  once  two  combatants  to  join 
His  warring  troops,  against  the  law  of  arms, 
Unless  the  wary  foe  was  ever  in  alarms. 

Now  the  white  Archer  with  his  utmost  force 
Bent  the  tough  bow  against  the  sable  Horse, 
And  drove  him  from  the  Queen,  where  he  had  stood 
Hoping  to  glut  his  vengeance  with  her  blood. 
Then  the  right  Efephant  with  martial  pride 
Roved  here  and  there,  and  spread  his  terrors  wide : 
Glittering  in  arms  from  far  a  courser  came, 
Threaten'd  at  once  the  King  and  Royal  Dame ; 


OF    GOLDSMITH.  203 

Thought  himself  safe  when  he  the  post  had  seized, 
And  with  the  future  spoils  his  fancy  pleased. 
Fired  at  the  danger  a  young  Archer  came, 
Rush'd  on  the  foe,  and  levell'd  sure  his  aim ; 
(And  though  a  Pawn  his  sword  in  vengeance  draws, 
Gladly  he'd  lose  his  life  in  glory's  cause.) 
The  whistling  arrow  to  his  bowels  flew, 
And  the  sharp  steel  his  blood  profusely  drew  ; 
He  drops  the  reins,  he  totters  to  the  ground, 
And  his  life  issued  murm'ring  through  the  wound. 
Pierced  by  the  Foot,  this  Archer  bit  the  plain ; 
The  Foot  himself  was  by  another  slain  ; 
And  with  inflamed  revenge,  the  battle  burns  again. 
Towers,  Archers,  Knights,  meet  on  the  crimson 

ground, 

And  the  field  echoes  to  the  martial  sound. 
Their  thoughts  are  heated,  and  their  courage  fired, 
Thick  they  rush  on  with  double  zeal  inspired ; 
Generals  and  Foot,  with  different  colour'd  mien, 
Confusedly  warring  in  the  camps  are  seen, — 
Valour  and  Fortune  meet  in  one  promiscuous  scene. 
Now  these,  victorious,  lord  it  o'er  the  field ; 
Now  the  foe  rallies,  the  triumphant  yield: 
Just  as  the  tide  of  battle  ebbs  or  flows. 
As  when  the  conflict  more  tempestuous  grows 
Between  the  winds,  with  strong  and  boisterous 

sweep 

They  plough  th'  Ionian  or  Atlantic  deep, 
By  turns  prevails  the  mutual  blustering  roar, 
And  the  big  waves  alternate  lash  the  shore. 


204  THE   POEMS 

But  in  the  midst  of  all  the  battle  raged 
The  snowy  Queen,  with  troops  at  once  engaged ; 
She  fell'd  an  Archer  as  she  sought  the.  plain, — 
As  she  retired  an  Elephant  was  slain. 
To  right  and  left  her  fatal  spears  she  sent, 
Burst  through-  the  ranks,  and  triumph'd  as  she 

went ; 

Through  arms  and  blood  she  seeks  a  glorious  fate, 
Pierces  the  farthest  lines,  and  nobly  great 
Leads  on  her  army  with  a  gallant  show, 
Breaks  the  battalions,  and  cuts  through  the  foe. 
At  length  the  sable  King  his  fears  betray'd, 
And  begg'd  his  military  consort's  aid : 
With  cheerful  speed  she  flew  to  his  relief, 
And  met  in  equal  arms  the  female  chief. 

Who  first,  great  Queen,  and  who  at  last  did 

bleed  ? 

How  many  Whites  lay  gasping  on  the  mead  ? 
Half  dead,  and  floating  in  a  bloody  tide, 
Foot,  Knights,  and  Archer  lie  on  every  side. 
Who  can  recount  the  slaughter  of  the  day, 
How  many  leaders  threw  their  lives  away  ? 
The  chequer'd  plain  is  fill'd  with  dying  box, 
Havoc  ensues,  and  with  tumultuous  shocks 
The  different  colour'd  ranks  in  blood  engage, 
And  Foot  and  Horse  promiscuously  rage. 
With  nobler  courage  and  superior  might 
The  dreadful  Amazons  sustain  the  fight, 
Resolved  alike  to  mix  in  glorious  strife, 
Till  to  imperious  fate  they  yield  their  life. 


OP    GOLDSMITH.  205 

Meanwhile  each  Monarch,  in  a  neighbouring. 

cell 

Confined  the  warriors  that  in  battle  fell, 
There  watch'd  the  captives  with  a  jealous  eye, 
Lest,  slipping  out  again,  to  arms  they  fly. 
But  Thracian  Mars,  in  stedfast  friendship  join'd 
To  Hermes,  as  near  Phoebus  he  reclined, 
Observed  each  chance,  how  all  their  motions  bend, 
Resolved  if  possible  to  serve  his  friend. 
He  a  Foot-soldier  and  a  Knight  purloin'd 
Out  from  the  prison  that  the  dead  confined, 
And  slyly  push'd  'em  forward  on  the  plain ; 
Th'  enliven'd  combatants  their  arms  regain, 
Mix  in  the  bloody  scene,  and  boldly  war  again 
So  the  foul  hag,  in  screaming  wild  alarms 
O'er  a  dead  carcase  muttering  her  charms, 
(And  with  her  frequent  and  tremendous  yell 
Forcing  great  Hecate  from  out  of  hell) 
Shoots  in  the  corpse  a  new  fictitious  soul ; 
With  instant  glare  the  supple  eyeballs  roll, 
Again  it  moves  and  speaks,  and  life  informs  the 

whole. 

Vulcan  alone  discern'd  the  subtle  cheat ; 
And  wisely  scorning  such  a  base  deceit, 
Call'd  out  to  Phoebus.     Grief  and  rage  assail 
Phoebus  by  turns ;  detected  Mars  turns  pale. 
Then  awful  Jove  with  sullen  eye  reproved 
Mars,  and  the  captives  order'd  to  be  moved 
To  their  dark  caves ;  bid  each  fictitious  spear 
Be  straight  recall'd,  and  all  be  as  they  were. 


206  THE   POEMS 

And  now  both  Monarchs  with  redoubled  rage 
Led  on  their  Queens,  the  mutual  war  to  wage. 
O'er  all  the  field  their  thirsty  spears  they  send, 
Then  front  to  front  their  Monarchs  they  defend. 
But  lo !  the  female  White  rush'd  in  unseen, 
And  slew  with  fatal  haste  the  swarthy  Queen ; 
Yet  soon,  alas  I  resign'd  her  royal  spoils, 
Snatch'd  by  a  shaft  from  her  successful  toils. 
Struck  at  the  sight,  both  hosts  in  wild  surprise 
Pour'd  forth  their  tears,  and  fill'd  the  air  with  cries ; 
They  wept  and  sigh'd,  as  pass'd  the  fun'ral  train, 
As  if  both  armies  had  at  once  been  slain. 

And  now  each  troop  surrounds  its  mourning  chief, 
To  guard  his  person,  or  assuage  his  grief. 
One  is  their  common  fear ;  one  stormy  blast 
Has  equally  made  havoc  as  it  pass'd. 
Not  all,  however,  of  their  youth  are  slain ; 
Some  champions  yet  the  vig'rous  war  maintain. 
Three  Foot,  an  Archer,  and  a  stately  Tower, 
For  Phoebus  still  exert  their  utmost  power. 
Just  the  same  number  Mercury  can  boast, 
Except  the  Tower,  who  lately  in  his  post 
Unarm'd,  inglorious  fell,  in  peace  profound 
Pierced  by  an  Archer  with  a  distant  wound ; 
But  his  right  Horse  retain'd  its  mettled  pride, — 
The  rest  were  swept  away  by  war's  strong  tide. 

But  fretful  Hermes,  with  despairing  moan, 
Grieved  that  so  many  champions  were  o'erthrown, 
Yet  reassumes  the  fight ;  and  summons  round 
The  little  straggling  army  that  he  found, — 


OF    GOLDSMITH.  207 

All  that  had  'scaped  from  fierce  Apollo's  rage, — 
Resolved  with  greater  caution  to  engage 
In  future  strife,  by  subtle  wiles  (if  fate 
Should  give  him  leave)  to  save  his  sinking  state. 
The  sable  troops  advance  with  prudence  slow, 
Bent  on  all  hazards  to  distress  the  foe  : 
More  cheerful  Phrebus,  with  unequal  pace, 
Rallies  his  arms  to  lessen  his  disgrace. 
But  what  strange  havoc  everywhere  has  been ! 
A  straggling  champion  here  and  there  is  seen ; 
And  many  are  the  tents,  yet  few  are  left  within. 
Th'  afflicted  Kings  bewail  their  consorts  dead, 
And  loathe  the  thoughts  of  a  deserted  bed ; 
And  though  each  monarch  studies  to  improve 
The  tender  mem'ry  of  his  former  love, 
Their  state  requires  a  second  nuptial  tie. 
Hence  the  pale  ruler  with  a  love-sick  eye 
Surveys  th'  attendants  of  his  former  wife, 
And  offers  one  of  them  a  royal  life. 
These,  when  their  martial  mistress  had  been  slain, 
Weak  and  despairing  tried  their  arms  in  vain; 
Willing,  howe'er,  amidst  the  Black  to  go, 
They  thirst  for  speedy  vengeance  on  the  foe. 
Then  he  resolves  to  see  who  merits  best, 
By  strength  and  courage,  the  imperial  vest ; 
Points  out  the  foe,  bids  each  with  bold  design 
Pierce  through  the  ranks,  and  reach  the  deepest 

line : 

For  none  must  hope  with  monarchs  to  repose 
But  who  can  first,  through  thick  surrounding  foes. 


208  THE    POEMS 

Through  arms  and  wiles,  with  hazardous  essay. 
Safe  to  the  farthest  quarters  force  their  way. 
Fired  at  the  thought,  with  sudden,  joyful  pace 
They  hurry  on ;  but  first  of  all  the  race 
Runs  the  third  right-hand  warrior  for  the  prize, — 
The  glitt'ring  crown  already  charms  her  eyes. 
Her  dear  associates  cheerfully  give  o'er 
The  nuptial  chase ;  and  swift  she  flies  before, 
And  Glory  lent  her  wings,  and  the  reward  in 

store. 

Nor  would  the  sable  King  her  hopes  prevent, 
For  he  himself  was  on  a  Queen  intent, 
Alternate,  therefore,  through  the  field  they  go. 
Hermes  led  on,  but  by  a  step  too  slow, 
His  fourth  left  Pawn :   and  now  th'  advent'rous 

White 
Had  march' d  through  all,  and  gain'd  the  wish'd 

for  site. 

Then  the  pleased  King  gives  orders  to  prepare 
The  crown,  the  sceptre,  and  the  royal  chair, 
And  owns  her  for  his  Queen :  around  exult 
The  snowy  troops,  and  o'er  the  Black  insult. 
Hermes  burst  into  tears, — with  fretful  roar 
Fill'd  the  wide  air,  and  his  gay 'vesture  tore. 
The  swarthy  Foot  had  only  to  advance 
One  single  step ;  but  oh !  malignant  chance ! 
A  tower'd  Elephant,  with  fatal  aim, 
Stood  ready  to  destroy  her  when  she  came : 
He  keeps  a  watchful  eye  upon  the  whole, 
Threatens  her  entrance,  and  protects  the  goal. 


OF  •  GOLDSMITH.  209 

Meanwhile  the  royal  new-created  bride, 

Pleased  with  her  pomp,  spread  death  and  terror 

wide; 

Like  lightning  through  the  sable  troops  she  flies, 
Clashes  her  arms,  and  seems  to  threat  the  skies. 
The  sable  troops  are  sunk  in  wild  affright, 
And  wish  th'  earth  op'ning  snatch'd  'em  from  her 

sight. 

In  burst  the  Queen,  with  vast  impetuous  swing : 
The  trembling  foes   come   swarming  round  the 

King, 
Where  in  the  midst  he  stood,  and  form  a  valiant 

ring. 

So  the  poor  cows,  straggling  o'er  pasture  land, 
When  they  perceive  the  prowling  wolf  at  hand, 
Crowd  close  together  in  a  circle  full, 
And  beg  the  succour  of  the  lordly  bull ; 
They  clash  their  horns,  they  low  with  dreadful 

sound, 
And  the  remotest  groves  reecho  round. 

But  the  bold  Queen,  victorious,  from  behind 
Pierces  the  foe ;  yet  chiefly  she  design'd 
Against  the  King-  himself  some  fatal  aim, 
And  full  of  war  to  his  pavilion  came. 
Now  here  she  rush'd,  now  there ;  and  had  she  been 
But  duly  prudent,  she  had  slipp'd  between, 
With  course  oblique,  into  the  fourth  white  square, 
And  the  long  toil  of  war  had  ended  there  ; 
The  King  had  fallen,  and  all  his  sable  state, 
And  vanquish'd  Hermes  cursed  his  partial  fate  : 
14 


210  THE   POEMS 

For  thence  with  ease  the  championess  might  go, 
Murder  the  King,  and  none  could  ward  the  blow 
With  silence,  Hermes,  and  with  panting  heart, 
Perceived  the  danger,  but  with  subtle  art, 
(Lest  he  should  see  the  place)  spurs  on  the  foe, 
Confounds  his  thoughts,  and  blames  his  being  slow. 
"  For  shame !  move  on !  would  you  forever  stay  ? 
What  sloth  is  this,  what  strange  perverse  delay  ? — 
How  could  you  e'er  my  little  pausing  blame  ? — 
What!   you  would  wait  till  night  shall  end  the 

game  ?  " 

Phoebus,  thus  nettled,  with  imprudence  slew 
A  vulgar  Pawn,  but  lost  his  nobler  view. 
Young  Hermes  leap'd,  with  sudden  joy  elate ; 
And  then,  to  save  the  monarch  from  his  fate, 
Led  on  his  martial  Knight,  who  stepp'd  between, 
Pleased  that  his  charge  was  to  oppose  the  Queen. 
Then,  pondering  how  the  Indian  beast  to  slay, 
That  stopp'd  the  Foot  from  making  farther  way, 
From  being  made  a  Queen,  with  slanting  aim 
An  Archer  struck  him  ;  down  the  monster  came, 
And  dying  shook  the  earth :  while  Phoebus  tries 
Without  success  the  monarch  to  surprise. 
The  Foot,  then  uncontroll'd,  with  instant  pride, 
Seized  the  last  spot,  and  moved  a  royal  bride. 
And  now  with  equal  strength  both  war  again, 
And  bring  their  second  wives  upon  the  plain. 
Then,  though  with  equal  views  each  hoped  and 

fear'd, 
Yet,  as  if  every  doubt  had  disappear'd, 


OP    GOLDSMITH.  211 

As  if  he  had  the  palm,  young  Hermes  flies 
Into  excess  of  joy ;  with  deep  disguise, 
Extols  his  own  Black  troops,  with  frequent  spite 
And  with  invective  taunts  disdains  the  White. 
Whom  Phoebus  thus  reproved  with  quick  return — 
"As  yet  we  cannot  the  decision  learn 
Of  this  dispute,  and  do  you  triumph  now  ? 
Then  your  big  words  and  vauntings  I'll  allow, 
When  you  the  battle  shall  completely  gain  ; 
At  present  I  shall  make  your  boasting  vain." 
He  said,  and  forward  led  the  daring  Queen ; 
Instant  the  fury  of  the  bloody  scene 
Rises  tumultuous,  swift  the  warriors  fly 
From  either  side  to  conquer  or  to  die. 
They  front  the  storm  of  war :  around  'em  Fear, 
Terror,  and  Death,  perpetually  appear. 
All  meet  in  arms,  and  man  to  man  oppose, 
Each  from  their  camp  attempts  to  drive  their  foes  ; 
Each  tries  by  turns  to  force  the  hostile  lines ; 
Chance  and  impatience  blast  their  best  designs. 
The  sable  Queen  spread  terror  as  she  went 
Through  the  mid  ranks :  with  more  reserved  intent 
The  adverse  dame  declined  the  open  fray, 
And  to  the  King  in  private  stole  away : 
Then  took  the  royal  guard,-  and  bursting  in, 
With  fatal  menace  close  besieged  the  King. 
Alarm'd  at  this,  the  swarthy  Queen,  in  haste, 
From  all  her  havoc  and  destructive  waste 
Broke  off,  and  her  contempt  of  death  to  show. 
Leap'd  in  between  the  monarch  and  the  foe, 


212  THE   POEMS 

To  save  the  King  and  state  from  this  impending 

blow. 

But  Phoebus  met  a  worse  misfortune  here : 
For  Hermes  now  led  forward,  void  of  fear, 
His  furious  Horse  into  the  open  plain, 
That  onward   chafed,  and   pranced,  and   pawed 

amain. 

Nor  ceased  from  his  attempts  until  he  stood 
On  the  long-wished-for  spot,  from  whence  he  could 
Slay  King  or  Queen.     O'ervvhelm'd  with  sudden 

fears, 

Apollo  saw,  and  could  not  keep  from  tears. 
Now  all  seem'd  ready  to  be  overthrown ; 
His  strength  was  wither'd,  ev'ry  hope  was  flown. 
Hermes,  exulting  at  this  great  surprise, 
Shouted  for  joy,  and  fill'd  the  air  with  cries ; 
Instant  he  sent  the  Queen  to  snades  below, 
And  of  her  spoils  made  a  triumphant  show. 
But  in  return,  and  in  his  mid  career, 
Fell  his  brave  Knight,  beneath  the  Monarch's  spear. 

Phcebus,  however,  did  not  yet  despair, 
But  still  fought  on  with  courage  and  with  care. 
He  had  but  two  poor  common  men  to  show, 
And  Mars's  favourite  with  his  iv'ry  bow. 
The  thoughts  of  ruin  made  'em  dare  their  best 
To  save  their  King,  so  fatally  distress'd  ; 
But  the  sad  hour  required  not  such  an  aid, 
And  Hermes  breathed  revenge  where'er  he  stray'd. 
Fierce  comes  the  sable  Queen  with  fatal  threat, 
Surrounds  the  monarch  in  his  royal  seat ; 


OF    GOLDSMITH.  213 

Rush'd  here  and  there,  nor  rested  till  she  slew 
The  last  remainder  of  the  whiten'd  crew. 
Sole  stood  the  King,  the  midst  of  all  the  plain, 
Weak  and  defenceless,  his  companions  slain. 
As  when  the  ruddy  morn  ascending  high 
Has  chased  the  twinkling  stars  from  all  the  sky, 
Your  star,  fair  Venus,  still  retains  its  light, 
And,  loveliest,  goes  the  latest  out  of  sight 
No  safety's  left,  no  gleams  of  hope  remain ; 
Yet  did  he  not  as  vanquish'd  quit  the  plain, 
But  tried  to  shut  himself  between  the  foe, — 
Unhurt  through  swords  and  spears  he  hoped  to  go, 
Until  no  room  was  left  to  shun  the  fatal  blow. 
For  if  none  threaten'd  his  immediate  fate, 
And  his  next  move  must  ruin  all  his  state, 
All  their  past  toil  and  labour  is  in  vain, 
Vain  all  the  bloody  carnage  of  the  plain, — 
Neither  would  triumph  then,  the  laurel  neither  gain. 
Therefore  through  each  void  space  and  desert  tent, 
By  different  moves  his  various  course  he  bent : 
The  Black  King  watch'd  him  with  observant  eye, 
Follow'd  him  close,  but  left  him  room  to  fly. 
Then  when  he  saw  him  take  the  farthest  line, 
He  sent  the  Queen  his  motions  to  confine, 
And  guard  the  second  rank,  that  he  could  go 
No  farther  now  than  to  that  distant  row. 
The  sable  monarch  then  with  cheerful  mien 
Approach'd,  but  always  with  one  space  between. 
But  as  the  King  stood  o'er  against  him  there, 
Helpless,  forlorn,  and  sunk  in  his  despair, 


214  THE   POEMS 

The  martial  Queen  her  lucky  moment  knew, 
Seized  on  the  farthest  seat  with  fatal  view, 
Nor  left  th'  unhappy  King  a  place  to  flee  unto. 
At  length  in  vengeance  her  keen  sword  she  draws-, 
Slew  him,  and  ended  thus  the  bloody  cause : 
And  all  the  gods  around  approved  it  with  applause. 

The  victor  could  not  from  his  insults  keep, 
But  laugh'd  and  sneer'd  to  see  Apollo  weep. 
Jove  call'd  him  near,  and  gave  him  in  his  hand 
The  powerful,  happy,  and  mysterious  wand 
By  which  the  Shades  are  call'd  to  purer  day, 
When  penal  fire  has  purged  their  sins  away ; 
By  which  the  guilty  are  condemn'd  to  dwell 
In  the  dark  mansions  of  the  deepest  hell ; 
By  which  he  gives  us  sleep,  or  sleep  denies, 
And  closes  at  the  last  the  dying  eyes. 
Soon  after  this,  the  heavenly  victor  brought 
The  game  on  earth,  and  first  th'  Italians  taught 

For  (as  they  say)  fair  Scacchis  he  espied 
Feeding  her  cygnets  in  the  silver  tide, 
(Scacchis,  the  loveliest  Seriad  of  the  place) 
And  as  she  stray'd,  took  her  to  his  embrace. 
Then,  to  reward  her  for  her  virtue  lost, 
Gave  her  the  men  and  chequer'd  board,  emboss'd 
With  gold  and  silver  curiously  inlay'd, 
And  taught  her  how  the  game  was  to  be  play'd. 
Ev'n  now  'tis  honour'd  with  her  happy  name  ; 
And  Rome  and  all  the  world  admire  the  game  : 
All  which  the  Seriads  told  me  heretofore, 
When  my  boy -notes  amused  the  Serian  shore. 

THE    END. 


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